


Scheherazade

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 97,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Scheherazade, Chapter 1/17** _

**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 1/17   
**Chapter Title:** Darkberry Fields   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: F**ar in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000260yg/)  
---  
  
****

Chapter One

**Darkberry Fields**

 

Spike wiped the stinging sweat from his brow and remembered a time when the light from even one sun meant nearly instant combustion. Yet here he was, toiling under a pair of them. His English skin wouldn’t tan, no matter how long he broiled in the heat, but instead stayed perpetually red and sore even under its coating of dust and grime. At least skin cancer wasn’t a worry for him. The overseer saw him pause in his labors and zapped him, lightly, just a warning. Spike groaned silently and bent down again over the short, prickly bushes, picking the red fruit and tossing it gently into the bag over his shoulder.

He should be happy, he knew. Soon the darkberry season would be over, and the slaves would be deactivated and crammed into shipping containers and sent to work in the ice fields for the winter. Sometimes they were kept in the big boxes for weeks, waiting to be needed, and he would lie among the others like so much cordwood, silent, unmoving, and unfed, just stored in the cold darkness. When they were finally released, it was only to chip endlessly at the ice, keeping the shipping lanes open. The cold was much, much worse than the heat. Still, just this moment, a bit of a chill sounded terribly nice.

He nearly caught up with the slave in front of him, the vampire’s dark, sweaty arse shining in the glare as he perpetually stooped and twisted, stooped and twisted. But then Spike tripped over a root and stumbled, spilling some of the berries out of their container. This time, the overseer punished him more harshly, and as the pain sliced through Spike’s skull, he yelped noiselessly and was nearly driven to his knees. As he fought not to lose the rest of his harvest—for that would result in very harsh consequences—he heard a voice call out.

“Hey! Stop it! The boss wants that one tonight.”

Despite the heat, a shiver ran down Spike’s spine.

But the pain ended at least, and a moment later, a short man with wild ginger hair and a pug nose came near him. “Forty-five seventeen! Go hand in the bag and get cleaned up.”

Spike stood straight and then moved swiftly to the end of the row, where one of the overseers was standing under an awning, waiting for him. Spike pulled the bag from his shoulder and laid it on the scale. The overseer ran a scanner over the chip in Spike’s bicep, crediting him with the weight of the berries he’d just brought in. He’d be short of his quota for today, and he hoped he wouldn’t be penalized for it as it wasn’t his fault he’d been called away well before sunset. Not that anyone cared whether it was his fault or not.

When the overseer nodded to him, Spike jogged down the dusty road toward the slave quarters. Another overseer was waiting for him there, a skinny kid who liked to pinch and poke at the slaves when nobody was watching. The bloke thrust a container of feed at him. As he’d been trained to do, Spike bobbed his head in thanks, and then downed the fetid stuff. It was some sort of synthetic shite. It filled his belly and kept him going, but it made even the pig’s blood Angel had made him drink so long ago taste like ambrosia. At least, he thought so. It was so long since he had real blood of any kind, he didn’t truly remember its flavor. But he knew it was much better than this.

He handed the empty container back to the overseer with another small bow. The boy sneered at him and gestured at the water spigot. “Over there, slave,” he said. His voice was squeaky.

Spike stood under the spigot and enjoyed the feel of the cold water on his hot skin, even if the force of it irritated his perpetual sunburn. There was a thick cake of soap on a stand, and the overseer watched him with narrowed eyes as he ran it over his hair and torso and arms and legs, working up a good lather. It felt bloody brilliant to get clean, even under these circumstances. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d last been permitted to shower. Under the boy’s watchful glare, he cleansed every bit of himself, taking extra care with his cock and bollocks, and with the cleft of his arse. He hadn’t touched himself in a long while either, and the boy smirked as Spike’s cock twitched and partially filled.

When Spike was thoroughly scrubbed, the boy turned off the water. Spike would dry very quickly in the heat. “Turn and spread ‘em,” the kid said, and Spike complied, bending over and using his hands to expose his arsehole to the overseer. The kid poked a couple of slippery fingers inside him, none too gently, and Spike struggled not to move. When the kid was satisfied that Spike was sufficiently slicked, he ordered him to stand with his legs apart and his arms overhead. Then the overseer rubbed a lightly scented oil on Spike’s skin. Spike hoped he’d be permitted to wash it off before he was returned to the fields—the stuff attracted dust and insects.

The boy ran a comb roughly through Spike’s hair. The overseers cut the slaves’ hair twice a year, but now Spike’s was long and the curls tended to snarl. The boy spent a few minutes inspecting Spike, making sure he was suitably prepared, and then he nodded to himself. “Okay,” he said. “Good enough.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shift, which he handed to Spike. Spike pulled it over his head. He hated the bloody things. It was made of some soft, very thin material in a beige-gray uncolor. It hung loosely around his neck, ending at his upper thigh. It reminded him of a hospital johnny, only solid instead of tied in the back. It was both emasculating and revealing—any bending or lifting resulted in him flashing whomever was near—and he’d rather have just remained naked, as he was nearly all of the time. But the Masters banned nudity in the halls of their houses. It was merely one of their many odd rules, and he was in no position to question it.

“C’mon!” the kid said impatiently, and Spike followed him down the road and toward the house. They went in one of the side entrances, and none of the humans or slaves scurrying busily around paid them any mind. They twisted and turned down a series of corridors, then ascended a stairway, finally stopping in front of a pair of ornately carved wooden doors. Not the head Master’s chambers, Spike noted. Likely those of one of his sons.

The human knocked sharply on one of the doors. The door swung open a moment later. A woman was standing there, middle-aged and slightly pudgy but pretty, her dark hair cut quite short. She nodded at the handler. “I’ll take him now,” she said. The boy swatted Spike on the arse, propelling him forward into the room.

It was a beautiful room. Most of this particular family of Masters was prone to fussiness in their décor, with gilt and scrollwork and flocking everywhere. This room was quite different. It was large but spare, the floors of very highly polished light wood, the walls unadorned except for cream-colored paint. The wall supports and ceiling beams were exposed and unfinished. There was a bed near one wall, huge but quite plain, with soft-looking white sheets. Spike glanced at it longingly. It had been a very long time since he’d slept in a bed. There was little other furniture—a large chest of drawers, a desk, a few chairs scattered here and there—but all of it was finely made. A big empty fireplace took up one corner. A floor-to-ceiling window was shuttered against the late afternoon glare, and fans overhead made a small breeze. It felt wonderful.

The woman scrutinized him carefully and skeptically. “Over here,” she said. He followed her into an enormous bathroom, where there was a marble bath big enough for three or four, and a toilet, and a large, glass-enclosed shower. The sink was marble as well. She turned on the bath tap. “Rinse your feet and legs under this,” she ordered. He sat on the edge of the bath and did as she said, washing away the dust he’d picked up walking toward the house.

When he was clean again, she tossed him a fluffy white towel. “Dry,” she said. He wiped off the water, marveling at the softness of the cloth.

Then he followed her back into the main room, and she pointed to a spot on the floor. A thick red carpet was there, and a comfortable-looking armchair was nearby, with a small table and lamp beside it. “Kneel here.” He was immensely thankful to be able to rest his knees on the rug, instead of the hard wood floor. “Wait. He’ll be along eventually.”

She left the room, and he was alone. It was rare for him to have a moment of idleness like this, and even rarer for him to be alone. He sat back on his heels and enjoyed it while it lasted, inhaling deeply to scent at the lingering smells of this Master, and at the food odors that wafted up from the kitchen. He listened to the fans whir overhead, and he waited, as he’d been told.

 

The light stealing in around the shutters had grown orange and the double shadows were long when the door opened again. Spike caught only a glimpse of the Master out of the corner of his eye and then immediately bowed deeply, clasping his hands behind his back and pressing his face to the thick rug, as he had been trained to do. Softly moving air tickled his exposed buttocks. Heavy, booted footsteps clomped on the wood floor toward the bathroom, and a moment later Spike could hear the shower running. He’d seen enough to know which Master this was—the youngest son. He’d never used Spike before, but Spike had seen him now and then, walking or riding at the edge of the fields, rarely paying any mind at all to the laboring slaves. A few days earlier, though, he and the ginger-haired bloke had stood and watched for some time as the slaves picked fruit. Spike had thought the men’s eyes had lingered on him, and apparently he’d been correct.

The shower stopped, and a few minutes later, feet padded out of the bathroom, bare this time. A desk drawer opened, there was a soft clink of glass on glass, and the quiet gurgle of liquid being poured. Scotch. He could smell it halfway across the room, and his mouth watered for a taste he hadn’t experienced in several hundred years.

A small sip, a tiny sigh of satisfaction, and more footsteps, this time coming his way. Then another sigh as Master collapsed into the nearby chair. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” said Master. His voice was deep and slightly gravelly. “Stand up.”

Smoothly, Spike rose to his feet. He kept his eyes trained on the patterned carpet, but could just barely see Master scrutinizing him. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, very broad and muscular. His damp hair was shoulder-length and blue-black and slightly wavy. Like those of the other members of his family, his mouth was a thin, cruel-looking slash, but his blue eyes were warm under heavy brows. His nose was bent, ruining what would otherwise have been a perfect profile. He wore a white, open-necked shirt, so gauzy as to be nearly as insubstantial as Spike’s shift, if considerably better tailored. His trousers were silk, loose and black. His body was slumped in the chair and he looked tired.

“Lift your face.” Spike did, keeping his expression blank and focusing his eyes on the shutters behind Master’s shoulder. “Very pretty. Lift that shift up.” Spike bunched the hem in his hands and raised it to his waist. “Higher.” He did, bending his elbows so that he was exposed from the chest down. He wished again that he could just be nude and be free of this humiliating little display.

Master stared at him expressionlessly for several moments, then said, “Turn around.” Spike turned to face the double doors, noticing for the first time the intricate tapestry that hung beside them, the room’s only adornment. It was a pictorial, a scene of a city at night, and his dead heart ached when he saw it.

“All right. Turn back.” He obeyed. Master sipped slowly at his drink, still regarding Spike, who remained with the fabric gathered in his fists.

“Take that thing off.” With some relief, Spike slipped it over his head and then stood, holding it uncertainly. “Drop it.” He did, and Master simply continued to look at him. Masters rarely did, for very long. Usually, they’d glance at him, decide he was good-looking enough, and then start pounding away inside him. He wasn’t sure whether he preferred that. At least this Master made him feel as if Spike was _there_, even if only as an object to be inspected, like one of the marble statues that flanked the main entrance to the house.

Master drained his glass, set it on the table next to him, and spread his legs. “Come here,” he said, gesturing towards himself. Spike moved closer, stopping only when he was between Master’s splayed legs, Spike’s shins against the smooth leather of Master’s chair. Master reached up a long arm and placed his palm on Spike’s arse. His hand was warm, of course, but Spike was surprised at how callused it was; the Masters left manual labor to the servants and slaves, so their own hands were usually soft as a child’s. The hand that was stroking and kneading him now, though, was rough, with cracked and thickened skin.

“Very nice,” said Master quietly. “I thought it would be. I usually choose females, but when I saw you the other day, I thought a change would be interesting. Are you interesting…” he glanced at the number tattooed on Spike’s chest “…4517?”

Spike nodded slightly.

“Hmm,” said Master, rubbing a bit harder. “Well, I guess you’ll amuse me for a little while, anyway.” He moved his hand away, turned, and refilled his glass from the bottle that was on the table. He sipped at his Scotch, as Spike inhaled the scents that arose from Master of liquor and soap and arousal. It was pleasant, certainly better than dust and darkberries and unwashed vampires, which is what he usually smelled.

Master ran his hand down Spike’s flank and then sighed. “Season’s almost done, isn’t it? It’s a pity. Father’s decided to send all the field slaves off to the mines instead. More profitable, he thinks.”

Oh, gods, not the mines! Spike groaned silently and fought not to sink to his knees in anguish. He’d been in the mines before, for several decades, he thought. He’d rather have been in hell. Once a slave was dragged down into the mine, he stayed there, with no way to tell whether it was day or night, or summer or winter, with no sight before him but the rocks and his toiling compatriots and the always-angry overseers, who were very quick with their controllers. Slaves were chained in place, digging at the hard stone for hour after hour in search of the tiny venditite crystals that would power the great starships. Miniscule chips of mineral flew off constantly, tearing into bare skin. Only when the vampires’ bodies would hold out no longer, when they collapsed despite the powerful shocks from the controllers, would the overseers deactivate the slaves, leaving them immobile on the jagged ground for a few hours of blessed respite. Then, after too little time, they were reactivated and put back to work. That would be their entire existence, the only change coming every several days, when their chains were moved a few yards down, so they could begin digging in a fresh spot.

A few of the slaves had a different task: they picked up the heavy chunks of rock and placed them in carts, and then pulled the carts—which weighed hundreds of pounds when full—up the slope to the sorters and crushers that were installed near the entry to the mine. They were permitted more movement, of course, but their tendons and joints and bones would give under the constant strain, and if they were deemed not worth mending they were thrown into the deep pit at the center of the mine. Spike didn’t know what happened to them there, whether they managed to dust themselves or whether they remained, broken and starving.

It was always dark in the mine, always cold and dank.

When Spike was finally brought out to the surface, he’d been nearly blind for hours, both from the light he’d been so long unaccustomed to, and also from the tears of relief that wouldn’t stop flowing. The thought of being taken down there again was so horrifying he was surprised he had the strength to remain standing. He would have begged if he could have, if he had the slightest hope it would do any good.

But Master didn’t notice his despair or didn’t care. He continued caressing and squeezing Spike’s arse, sometimes allowing his fingertips to dip into the cleft, but not too deeply.

“That feels good, 4517. You have soft skin. Silky as a woman’s. Was it like that when you were human?”

Spike wasn’t sure what answer Master wanted, so he gave a small shake of his head. That seemed to please Master, who smiled lazily at him, and then drained his glass for the second time, still stroking his slave. Spike’s head was still reeling from the shock of what would be happening to him in a week or perhaps two, and he barely felt the man’s touch.

But then Master put the glass down and used that hand to fondle Spike’s bollocks, cupping them and rolling them gently in his hand. He fingered Spike’s foreskin and ran a broad, tough finger up and down the underside of Spike’s cock. It had been a long time since Spike had been touched this way, and, despite his distress, his body responded. Master chuckled delightedly as Spike’s cock lengthened and stiffened. “Ah. You like this too, don’t you? Pretty little thing.” He wrapped his large hand around Spike and rubbed, and Spike closed his eyes and tried not to move his hips. It was difficult. The friction felt so bloody good.

Master leered up at him. “Were you this responsive when you were human? Were you a slut then?” It was almost laughable. Spike had been a proper Victorian gentleman when he was turned, a bloody virgin, as a matter of fact, who’d felt he was doing something horribly naughty on the rare occasions he’d permitted himself a fast and inexpert wank. William Pratt would have shriveled up and died of mortification at the very thought of being handled like this. But he couldn’t say this, of course, so he simply shook his head again.

Master ran his thumb over the tip of Spike’s cock, which was already red and glistening. “Really a shame to hide all this in the mines,” he muttered.

Spike shivered.

“You know what? The whole silent thing is getting on my nerves. How about if I turn on your voice?” Spike hitched in a breath and then nodded vigorously. Jesus, how long had it been since he’d spoken?

Master released him, and then gently pushed him aside so he could haul himself out of the chair. He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and retrieved an object from inside. Spike couldn’t help flinching when Master pointed the controller at him, but there was no pain, simply a funny little click in his throat. Master tossed the small box onto the desktop and walked back to where Spike was standing. “So?” he said. “Say something.”

Spike opened his mouth. “Yes, Master,” he croaked, startling himself with the unfamiliar sound of his own voice.

“Maybe you should thank me.”

Spike bowed deeply and rasped, “Thank you, Master.” Christ, it felt good to speak. Words had always been among his strongest weapons, and their loss had been as devastating as any he’d experienced.

“You’re welcome,” Master said, and he stood very close, running a flat palm up and down Spike’s stiff back. He was very tall, towering over Spike by several inches, and much broader as well. Spike felt dwarfed by him, small and helpless. “Now, while I play with you, you may make all the noises you wish. Understand?”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

Master’s hand wandered down onto Spike’s arse again, and his fingers tickled between the cheeks before moving even farther, to tease at the sensitive skin behind Spike’s scrotum. Master nudged at Spike’s leg a bit, urging him to widen his stance, and those thick digits ghosted along his sac and then back, to where his sphincter was already slick and waiting for them. As Master patted Spike’s belly with his other hand, one long finger slipped inside him and Spike mewled. Gods, he didn’t want to enjoy being used, but he couldn’t sodding help it.

“I’d like to hear more of your voice, 4517. Describe what I’m doing now.”

Spike shuddered. He had no idea what this man wanted of him, but he had to try to comply. “You’re…you’re buggering me with your middle finger, Master.”

Master laughed. “And how does it feel?”

“It feels…feels good, Master.” Spike shuddered again.

“Hmm. But you’re here to make me feel good, not the other way ‘round, right?”

“Yes, Master.”

Master withdrew his finger and slapped Spike lightly on the arse. Then he leaned in closer. Spike felt the soft fabric of his trousers brush against his own bare legs. It made every hair on him stand on end.

“All right then, 4517. Make me feel good. On your knees!” He barked the last sentence sharply, and Spike instantly folded, thankful that the rug cushioned the impact. Master grabbed Spike’s hair in two tight fists and thrust his groin against Spike’s face. “Put your mouth to work here,” he ordered.

Spike rolled his eyes upward, uncertain as to whether Master meant him to draw down his trousers. But Master only pushed himself into Spike’s face, and so Spike parted his lips and began mouthing at Master’s thick, rigid cock through the fabric. The vegetable flavor of the silk wasn’t bad, and underneath it Spike could taste the salt of skin, and the slight bitterness of Master’s pre-come. The fabric was so thin that he could feel the sharp little hairs between Master’s legs, the veins and ridges of Master’s cock, the flare of his wide glans, and even the slight indentation of the slit at its tip. Master tugged his hair tighter and rocked against him.

They continued for what seemed a long time. Spike’s cock throbbed, hard and ignored. He doubted he’d be given release, either. He very rarely was, and even then, it was usually by accident. But on his knees in this room was better than in the field, where the suns had not yet set, and the other slaves were still bending over the darkberry bushes. He was cool now, and clean, and the ache in his balls and the pull on his scalp were much less painful than the zaps from the overseers’ controllers.

Master groaned and abruptly pushed Spike back. Spike’s face was wet with his own spit, and he wished he could wipe it.

Master yanked his trousers over his hips and they puddled at his feet. He stepped out of them and then pulled his shirt over his head, so now he was as bare as Spike. Barer—Spike wore a heavy iron collar around his neck. There was dark hair on Master’s chest, and a line of hair that led from his navel to his groin. His balls were pendulous, as oversized as the rest of him. Unlike most Masters, he had no layer of fat around his middle, no signs of a sedentary and pampered life. Although his legs were white, his torso was nearly as tanned as a slave’s, and his pectoral and abdominal muscles as sculpted. He was actually a beautiful man, Spike thought. Not that it mattered. Spike was there to be used, not to admire his Master.

Master motioned for Spike to stand, and then used both hands to palm Spike’s arse. When he brought one hand around to rub roughly between Spike’s legs, Spike whimpered and arched slightly into the touch. Master laughed and then stepped away. “Come here,” he said.

Spike followed him to the same chair where Master had been sitting earlier. Then, at Master’s direction, he walked around the back of it, bent at the waist, and braced his hands on the seatback. Master squeezed and rubbed at his buttocks a few moments more. “I think I’d like to hear you beg, 4517.”

With as much sincerity as he could muster, Spike said, “Please, Master, please fuck me.”

The head of Master’s cock slid between Spike’s cheeks. “More,” Master commanded. “Use that voice I gave you.”

“Please, Master. Shag me. Please—“ Spike’s words faltered as Master’s cock suddenly slammed inside him. It hurt, but it was an old pain, nothing he hadn’t felt thousands of times before. At least this time they’d slicked him first.

Master clenched his hands on Spike’s hips and began pounding into him, hard and fast. “Beg!” he growled.

“Please, Master! More, please. Fuck me. Fill me with your big, hard cock, use me, please, please.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without Spike thinking about them. His whole body was thrust back and forth with Master’s movements, and although it still hurt, it felt good as well, especially when Master’s cock dragged across his prostate, sending small sparkles through his core. But his eyes had been caught by that tapestry again, and that’s what he focused on, even as he begged, even as Master pistoned against him and then tensed, called out and spilled into Spike’s passage.

Master jerked erratically a few seconds more. Then he pulled out and away. He slapped playfully at Spike’s arse. “Nice and tight. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yes, Master,” Spike murmured, his own release trembling and unrealized.

Master strode over to the chest of drawers and pulled out another pair of trousers. They were identical to the ones on the floor, as far as Spike could tell. He put them on and then walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. Spike straightened and stood uncertainly behind the chair.

“What were you looking at while I was fucking you, 4517?”

The answer slipped out before Spike could stop it. “New York, Master.”

Master turned and looked at the city in the tapestry, then back at Spike. “How do you know that’s New York?”

“I…I saw it, Master. I was there.”

Master leapt to his feet and hurried over. He stood very close to Spike, looming over him. Spike stared down at his own feet.

“You were there? You were in New York? You were on Earth??” Master demanded.

Spike tensed. “Yes, Master.”

“How were you on Earth, slave?”

“I was born there.” Spike’s voice was hushed.

Master was completely silent for a long minute. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “How old are you?”

“I don’t…I don’t know, Master.” He had no idea what year it was.

“When were you born?”

“Twenty-eight September, 1851.”

“Eighteen—Great gods, _1851_?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Holy fuck.” Master’s tone was quiet, incredulous. “Holy fuck. That’s nearly a thousand years ago.”

Spike’s head snapped up and he bit back a cry. He knew…he knew it had been a long time. A very long time. But…a thousand years, and most of those a slave? How could he bear that?

His knees trembled and he grabbed at the chair for support.

Master shook his head slowly. “A thousand fucking years. Gods. And born on Earth. The things you must have seen! So much more than this stupid chunk of rock.” He sighed heavily. “Put your shift back on.”

On wobbly legs, Spike walked over to where he’d dropped the garment. He bent and picked it up, and slipped it over his head and arms. Master looked at him a moment longer, than stalked to the door and opened it. “Tralfos!” he bellowed into the hall.

The bloke with the ginger hair quickly came scurrying inside. “Yes, sir?”

“Take the slave back now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tralfos snapped his fingers and waved at Spike impatiently. Master walked past Spike without another glance, and Spike followed the servant out of the room. They moved quickly down the stairs, through the corridors, and then outside, where night had finally fallen. Spike was rarely outside this late, and he inhaled deeply, remembering when he had been a predator, something that stalked the dark, taking whatever he fancied. But that was so very long ago, and for centuries he’d been a slave, a drone or a plaything. His erection had wilted and Master’s cooled semen dripped down the inside of his thigh.

 

Tralfos led him swiftly down the dusty road to the slaves’ building, a long, low structure with no windows and just one heavy door. The man pressed his palm to the sensor and the door slid open. Inside, the stone floor was covered with the unmoving bodies of scores of slaves, all looking like the corpses they truly were. Some had been fortunate, and had been able to curl into themselves comfortably before they were paralyzed. Others had simply fallen, and they lay sprawled with their limbs akimbo, often atop or under bits of other slaves. It happened to Spike often enough, and he well knew how miserable it was to lie there all night, legs bent underneath him, unable to sleep well for the discomfort, but also unable even to twitch a single muscle into a better position.

So now, when Tralfos gestured impatiently at him, he peeled off the shift and handed it to him, then dove inside, shoving another slave or two slightly out of the way to make room for himself on the hard floor. He lay on his side with his knees bent, his head pillowed on one arm and his other arm wrapped around his stomach. When Tralfos used the controller a moment later, freezing Spike’s body, Spike was as at ease as possible.

The door slammed shut, plunging the space into darkness too impenetrable even for demon eyes.

It was usually maddening to lie here among all this flesh, unable to take advantage of it. Unable to reach down and give himself some solace. The vampires couldn’t even smell each other. Even their breathing was stilled until morning. One night, several years ago, a handler had fucked up, or perhaps there had been a glitch in the technology. In any case, all the vampires had suddenly been able to move. They still couldn’t escape the building—and there would have been nowhere to go if they had—so they’d spent the whole night frantically grabbing one another in the pitch blackness, sticking cocks into whatever hole was available, but still careful not to cause one another pain. It was a strange orgy, silent and desperate, and in the morning they’d all been exhausted and every one of them had been punished. He remembered it fondly, though—it was the last time he climaxed.

Now, Spike wished for the only escape he had: sleep. But his mind was too busy with the knowledge he’d just gained. He was a fucking millennium old. It had been over seven hundred years since he’d lost his freedom. And soon, he’d be going back down into the living grave of the mines.

He couldn’t even weep.

 

[Chapter Two](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/61352.html)


	2. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Scheherazade, Chapter 2/17** _

**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 2/17   
**Chapter Title:** Recall   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: F**ar in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00027x2y/)  
---  
  
****

Chapter Two

**Recall**

 

The morning was identical to thousands before it.

The doors slid open with a heavy _thunk_. It wasn’t quite dawn yet, and the air was slightly chill and damp. Spike and the other slaves felt the small thrill run down their spines as they were reactivated, and then they were scrambling to their feet, stretching, looking more like zombies than vampires.

Because Spike had been the last in, he was the first out as a pair of gruff handlers led them out of the building and into the close-packed dirt in front. Each of the slaves was given a container of feed as he or she exited; they were expected to drink it as they walked to the field. They trudged down the road, sipping at the plasticy packages, staring at their feet or at the double arcs of orange that were just beginning to peek over the horizon.

When they arrived at the field, they traded their empty feed packets for empty harvest bags, which they slung over one shoulder. And then they spread out into the rows and started picking, their eyesight having to strain slightly to find the ripe berries until the day finally broke, fifteen or twenty minutes later.

As the air quickly warmed, they bent, picked, and twisted, bent, picked, and twisted. Any pauses, even for a moment, meant a punishment from the eagle-eyed overseers. When their packs were full, they raised an arm. An overseer would nod at them, and they’d trot to the awning-covered collection point, enjoying the shade for the brief time it took the overseer there to weigh their bags, scan their arms, and then hand them an empty bag.

Although the overseers came and went in shifts throughout the day, there were no breaks for the slaves. Only when it was too dark to see properly did an overseer blow her whistle. The slaves handed in their final harvest for the day and then filed away. They were each given another packet of feed to drink as they walked back, their muscles weary and their skin hot and dry.

When they got to their building, two slaves who had not met their daily quota were pulled aside, and the rest filed quickly into the building. Because the slaves had no voices, the screams of the two who were punished were silent, but all the others saw their barely conscious bodies when they were tossed inside. That tingle ran down their spines and the slaves were paralyzed for another night. The door crashed shut.

Only then did Spike remember that Master hadn’t turned off his voice, that although he was silenced now, he could have spoken during the day. And what would he have said, in the few seconds he would have had before the overseers used their controllers? He could have told the other slaves what was in store for them, but what good would that have done, other than terrifying those who knew what the mines were like?

 

Usually, Spike tried not to think. That was relatively easy while he worked, and the repetitive motions nearly hypnotized him into a mindless, robotic state. It was harder at night, when his body was still and exhausted but his mind still restless. Memories would come to him then, unbidden. It wasn’t the bad memories that distressed him—the beatings and rapes, the days and weeks and months and years of loneliness and deprivation. If anything, those were almost comforting, in that they made him feel relatively content to be on the hard floor in the dark, immobile but at least whole and without an empty belly. It was the good memories that were devastating because they were so faint now, so far away, as impossible as dreams.

As Spike woke again, and was again led to the fields, on this day he allowed his brain to function. He focused on the things he knew would be taken from him in a very short time. The first rays of the suns, warming his chilled flesh before becoming too hot. The trilling song of the big gray birds—he didn’t know what they were called—that wheeled above them. The slave in front of him, a thin, very dark-skinned male with white, white teeth and an arse that waved enticingly in front of Spike all day. The dust that squished softly between his toes and cushioned every step. The scent of water, carried to him on the sporadic puffs of breeze, likely from the large artificial pond that was nestled behind the Masters’ house.

He was concentrating on the feel of the berries in his fingers—soft, warm, and slightly fuzzy, almost like human skin—when a mild zap from the controller interrupted him and made him gasp out loud. “Forty-five seventeen! Get your ass in gear!” an overseer shouted. Spike looked at her in puzzlement and she pointed at the collection spot. Tralfos was waiting there in the shade, hands on his hips. Spike hurried over and, at Tralfos’s impatient gesture, deposited his harvest bag.

“Come on,” the man said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Spike blinked in shock and then followed him back down the road. Did Master want him again, and so soon? He couldn’t recall any Master even using him twice in such a short time. Why would they, when they had their pick of compliant bodies? Tralfos walked fairly slowly, and Spike trailed behind him.

When they got to the slave quarters, Tralfos turned the spigot on and shoved Spike underneath the cold stream of water. “Wipe that look off your face, slave,” he said. “Your Master doesn’t want you sulking.” Spike ducked his head while he composed his features. He wasn’t sulking. Being able to clean himself again so soon was lovely, and he wasn’t at all upset at the prospect of spending a few hours in Master’s cool, spare chambers. He was simply confused. But he smoothed his face as he soaped himself thoroughly, again taking special care to cleanse the parts of himself Master would most likely want to play with.

Tralfos reached over and turned off the water, then ordered Spike to bend and present himself to be slicked. Tralfos was meticulous about this task, pressing his slippery fingers inside and carefully scissoring them, so that by the time he told Spike to stand straight again, Spike’s cock was fully erect and Spike was panting slightly. Tralfos rubbed the oil into his skin, and Spike closed his eyes and breathed through his nose as the man’s small hand stroked his bollocks and his hard, needy shaft. Tralfos snorted softly as if he was amused by the vampire’s predicament, but didn’t otherwise comment. He tossed Spike a shift and watched as he put it on.

The shift tented out before him as he followed Tralfos down the road and then into the big house. Spike tried to will his hard-on away, but it didn’t listen to him, and the slight friction of the fabric against his crown was a small torture.

Eventually, he was delivered to Master’s quarters. The same woman took charge of him and, as before, had him rinse off his feet and legs. The cold marble of the bath felt brilliant against his skin. Then he knelt on the carpet again and she went away, and he was left contemplating his still-rigid cock, and wondering how badly he’d be punished if he had a nice little wank as he waited. He finally decided that it was worth the risk, and he stuck his hand under the garment and wrapped it around himself, biting his lip to keep from crying out at the long-denied touch. He gripped tighter and rocked his hips into his fist. Christ! This wasn’t going to take long at all. Already his balls were tightening, and—

Booted footsteps in the hall.

Spike whisked his hand away and clasped it with the other behind his back. Then he bent over into a bow, cursing silently at the way his damp cock pressed against his belly, as unfulfilled as ever.

The door burst open. Spike didn’t look up. Master smelled strongly of sweat and dust and horses. He made a noncommittal little grunt—Spike wasn’t sure if it meant he was happy or surprised or displeased at the figure hunched on his floor—and then stomped on into the bathroom. The shower ran. Spike wriggled slightly, seeing if he could get off from rubbing his cock against his abdomen, but it wasn’t quite enough. And now that his Master was present, even if he was showering in the next room, Spike’s training wouldn’t permit him to break his bow without permission. He grumbled a curse into the carpet and tried to distract himself with thoughts of Kanshlak demons—the really slimy ones, who smelled of burning vomit, and whose limbs made a terrible sucking sound as they moved.

The water turned off. A few moments later, Master stepped out of the bathroom. As before, he stopped at the desk to pour himself a drink, and then came over to settle in his armchair.

“Stand up,” he said. With a quiet sigh, Spike did. Master laughed when he saw Spike’s condition. “Are you happy to see me?” he chuckled.

“Yes, Master,” Spike murmured.

“Take that thing off.”

Spike drew it over his head and, when Master pointed at the floor, let it fall. His cock was nearly purple now, and he wanted to groan just at the sight of it. It had been so long since he’d had any dominion over his own body.

“Looks like you have a problem there, 4517.”

Spike looked silently down at the rug.

“Take care of it.”

Spike’s head snapped up. Master was grinning lazily at him, cradling his glass in one hand while the other lay on the armrest. His trousers today were charcoal-colored and his shirt was red and unbuttoned. “Go ahead,” he said. “Jack off.”

He didn’t have to say it again. Spike grabbed his dick and held on tight, huffing with relief as skin rubbed against skin.

“Look at me while you do it,” Master said.

Spike focused his gaze on Master’s broad cheekbones and firm chin, which was dark with stubble. Master’s thin, pale lips were still quirked in a small smile, but he seemed more amused than cruel. Spike swiped his thumb over the tip of his cock and thrust forward rapidly, determined to finish himself off before Master changed his mind. Within seconds, his bollocks were heavy and tingling and his movements even more urgent.

“Do you want to come?” Master asked.

Spike panted out a breathless reply. “Yes, please, please, Master.”

“Okay, then. Come.”

As if even his cock was trained to Master’s command, Spike did, a ragged cry tearing from his throat as his climax rushed through him and his semen spurted onto the floor. His whole body shivered and his legs felt rubbery, but he managed to remain standing. He looked down in horror at the mess he’d made on the rug, dreading the punishment that he was sure would follow.

But Master only looked mildly at him and said, “Go wash yourself off and then come right back.”

Once again confused, Spike hurried into the bathroom. He cleaned his hand in the sink. Master hadn’t told him what to do about his groin, but then Spike spotted the towel he’d used earlier to dry his legs. It was still in a small heap on the floor next to the towel Master must have used after his shower. Spike grabbed his and dampened it, then wiped himself off with it. His now-flaccid cock tingled at the contact with the soft fabric, and Spike realized he could probably come several more times if he were permitted to do so.

When he returned to the bedroom, Master’s trousers were pushed down to his thighs and he was playing idly with himself, staring at the tapestry the whole time. Without shifting his gaze, he said, “Come here.”

So Spike knelt between the man’s long legs and slipped his cock into his mouth. After centuries of practice it was a simple thing to open his throat and take the entire thick length inside him, until his nose was pressed into Master’s tight curls, which were still damp from the shower, and smelled like soap. Master clutched Spike’s long hair and fucked his face with hard, deep strokes. When he came, Spike barely even needed to swallow, and he only caught a faint taste of human spend as Master pulled himself out with a hiss.

Spike fully expected to be sent away now. The suns were still out; he could likely work for at least another hour today. Instead, though, Master looked down at him and then ran his fingertips gently through Spike’s hair. Spike trembled at the contact, which was somehow more intimate than any they had shared so far. Master looked thoughtfully at the tapestry, and then back at Spike. “Tell me about New York,” he said, his voice wistful.

“M-Master?” Spike stuttered.

“New York. You said you were there. What was it like?”

“I…It was a long time ago, Master.”

“Of course it was!” Master snapped, and Spike flinched. “Describe it.”

Spike felt as if he were blindfolded in uncharted territory. “It was…it was very big, Master. Crowded. Dirty. Something happening everywhere you looked, even late at night. Buildings so tall you’d crane your head up and up, and still not see the top of them. A million different sounds and scents, all at once, Master.” As he spoke he was remembering those gritty streets he’d walked so long ago. The homeless people and drug dealers skulking in the parks and alleys; the glittering wealthy being chauffeured to this event or that in their big cars; the stylish young strung out on the drug du jour, staggering out of clubs and into all-night diners; the tired drudges trudging to work before dawn, not so differently than how Spike and the other slaves did now.

Master interrupted his brief reverie with a light blow to the head. “Tell me more. Tell me what you did there.”

Spike swallowed. “Master, I was…I was free, then, yeah? No Master, and no chips, and—“

“And you’re a vampire, and you killed and ate people. I get it. I want to know what it was like, to be there, with…with so much. So many people, so many things.”

Spike stared at Master, bewildered. But as Master began to frown impatiently, it occurred to Spike that the longer he spoke, the longer he could stay here, where it was cool and comfortable, and he could move a bit. And he could talk, of course, and somebody actually wanted to hear him. That had been rare, even when he’d been free. “You want me to tell you a story, Master?”

Master smiled broadly. “Yes. A story. Perfect.”

Spike thought furiously. What could he talk about that would keep Master entertained for a bit, and not get himself punished? Then an idea came to him. Yes. The time with the—yes. Perfect.

“One night, Master—“

“Wait.” Spike was still kneeling between his legs. He pushed gently back at him until Spike was sitting, the soft rug feeling lovely under his arse. Master lifted his own hips and pulled his trousers back up. Then he refilled his glass and took a long sip. “Ah,” he said, smacking his lips. “And you know what? Forget all the ‘Masters’ while you’re telling it, or we’ll be here for a year. Just pretend…. Did you ever go to a bar, back before you were a slave?”

Spike kept a straight face. “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Pretend you’re telling the story to a guy in a bar.”

Spike nodded, refraining from pointing out that he was rarely naked when he talked to blokes in bars, and he always had a drink at hand. Master might be in a mellow, post-orgasmic mood right now, but there was no point in pushing things. “All right,” he said. “This happened in 1977. I’d been living there a few years by then—bloody brilliant place for a vampire, New York was. Had a small flat down in Greenwich Village. Paid the rent with money I took from my victims, mostly, but I was running low.”

Master had settled back in his chair and he was listening raptly. Spike realized that he was the sort to make a good audience—interested in what Spike had to say, and not prone to interruptions. Spike folded his legs comfortably in front of himself and began his tale.

 

[Chapter Three](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/61692.html)


	3. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Scheherazade, Chapter 3/17** _

**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 3/17   
**Chapter Title: **The Hitman   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)   
Today's chapter includes art by [](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/profile)[**selana1505**](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/). Thank you, dear!

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00027x2y/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Three**

**The Hitman**

 

I had a girl, for a hundred years off and on. My sire, Drusilla. This was one of the off bits. She’d run off with another vamp—a Polish bloke who’d been an astronomer when he was human. She fancied the way he’d talk to her about the stars. I knew she’d come back eventually. She always did. So I stayed and waited for her, and had some fun of my own.

New York was good hunting. Loads of people who wouldn’t be missed, and cops that couldn’t be arsed to do any real investigations into their deaths. And all these lovely, dark places. Parts of the Bronx looked like Dresden after the war, burned out and empty. I could have lived there for nothing—there were plenty of squatters, human and otherwise. But I wanted a few of the creature comforts. Heat. Telly. Hot water for a shower. A cooker so I could have a cuppa every once in a while. I rented this basement flat. Just a single room, with a bed and a tiny kitchen, but it had a nice big bath, and not too many roaches. And no rats. Never could stand the sodding things.

I liked being in the Village. I was only a few blocks from the Bowery, and I could walk down and go to the clubs, go hear the Ramones or the Voidoids or someone. If I fancied a snack, it was easy to find a junkie nodding in an alley. I’d get a meal and a buzz all at once. I preferred the dealers, though. They always carried a lot of dosh, and if they kicked it, the cops would bloody applaud. If I didn’t feel like hunting, there were suckhouses, where humans would pay to get bitten. Not as much fun on my end, but it was easy, and it filled my stomach.

And the shagging. This was the golden era for sex in the States. The birds had birth control pills, but nobody was worried yet about diseases, and the kiddies would fuck anything that walked. It was easy to pick up a girl or sometimes a boy, too strung out to notice body temperature or heartbeat, have a nice little session somewhere.

I was happy, then. Missed Dru, but I was managing fine without her, and it was a bit of a break not having to care for her all the time. She was my dark princess, and she was beautiful, but she was also bloody barmy, yeah?

Come mid-February, I was having a bit of trouble scraping together cash for rent. It was cold out, and most of the people I preyed on were tucked away somewhere warm, somewhere indoors, where there tended to be witnesses if I tried to kill them. My landlady was a mean old bitch who wouldn’t hesitate to throw me out in the snow, and I didn’t fancy leaving my comfy little place just then. So I started looking for a new source of income.

I’d never had a proper job as a human. Father died when I was twelve, but he left my mum and me a bit of money. I went to university, of course, studied classical literature. But after, I took care of Mum and the house. We were running rather short by the time I died. We’d already let most of the servants go, and I’m not certain we could have kept the house much longer. I suppose it’s just as well I was turned when I was.

But if I didn’t work as a human, I certainly wasn’t about to start as a hundred year old vampire. Besides, it was difficult for vamps to find jobs. No proper paperwork, of course, and we could only work at night. It wasn’t like here. On Earth, we couldn’t go out during the day. We’d burst into flames as soon as the sun hit us. I don’t know why it doesn’t work on other planets. Different wavelengths, I expect. It was fortunate for humans, but limiting for us.

I earned a bit at the suckhouses, but a vamp can only drink so much, and the blokes who ran the places took their share of the money. What was left wasn’t enough for the rent. Brooding was never my particular style, but I was mulling the problem over one evening, trying to find a solution. Was watching the telly, too. _All in the Family_. There was a knock at my door.

That surprised me. Nobody ever visited except the landlady, and she’d been by earlier that day, reminding me that rent was nearly due. I was even more surprised when I opened the door. There were three blokes there. Two of them were huge, with mashed-in faces, like somebody’d used them to mop the floor once or twice. The sort that you knew had guns tucked in their jackets, even if they didn’t have their hands hovering near their chests. The one in the middle was small, maybe in his late 50’s. He was wearing a leisure suit, which was a particularly horrible fashion of the time, and a patterned shirt with wide lapels, and several big gold chains.

He smiled at me, very toothy. “Mr. Taylor?” he said. That was the name I’d rented the place under, William Taylor.

“Yes?” I said, coolly. I knew who these men were. Mobsters. Mafia. They owned my little section of the city. It wasn’t a bad thing, really. Meant humans were pretty safe on the streets and in their homes, as long as they didn’t make the mobsters angry. And businesses were pretty much robbery-free, as long as the owners paid their protection money on time. The drug dealers and pimps and whores belonged to them, but I didn’t like to hunt in my backyard anyhow, so I’d left them alone. I hadn’t a clue why they’d be at my door.

“Salvatore Russo,” the man said. “My friends call me Sal. And these are my associates, Buscetta and Lo Piccolo.” Perhaps they hadn’t any friends, because he didn’t tell me their first names. “May we come in?”

I glanced back inside, where Archie Bunker was berating Meathead. “Kind of busy here,” I said. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

Russo cranked up the smile. “I’m not selling, Mr. Taylor, I’m buying. And I think you might be very interested.”

I sighed. I could have slammed the door in their faces, but Russo seemed like a persistent sort. “All right.” I gestured for them to come in.

I saw all three of them take in the miserable little flat in a few quick looks. It didn’t appear to impress them, but I didn’t care. Wasn’t trying for _House Beautiful_. Finally, Russo sat on one half of my ratty blue loveseat, and I sat on the other. The goons flanked the door, looking uncomfortable.

“What is it you’re interested in, Sal?” I asked. Wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “I don’t think anything here is all that valuable.”

“Oh, I’m not buying goods, Mr. Taylor. I’m buying services. And I think yours might be quite valuable.”

I looked the bloke up and down. He was still grinning like the Cheshire cat. The two at the door were glowering, though, trying to look menacing, I reckon. I could have snapped their boss’s neck in an instant, long before they could draw their weapons. And then I could have turned on them and ripped out their throats before they knew what was what. But then there was the mess and inconvenience of corpses to dispose of—never kill in my own home, that was my motto—and I’d have to make myself scarce if I didn’t want troubles with their friends. And it wouldn’t solve any of my cash flow problems, either. Besides, I wasn’t really hungry. I’d eaten earlier in the evening. Chinese.

“What is it you think I can do for you?” I asked.

“I believe you possess certain…skills…that might prove valuable, Mr. Taylor.”

“Such as?”

He flashed a glance at his boys, who looked even more uncomfortable, and then he chewed on his lip a moment, as if he were trying to find the right way to word something.

“Look, Sal,” I said. “I’m not a patient man. Tell me straight what you want, or just get out.” I looked back at the telly. The show had just ended, which meant _Alice_ was on next. Hated that program. I was wondering whether to switch over and see what the Sunday night movie was.

“Okay,” Russo said. “I have a…business associate… that I haven’t been getting along with too well. I’d like to see him taken out of the picture.”

I gaped at him. “I’m not a bloody hitman! Why can’t you take care of it yourself? Or get one of your thugs over there to do the job. They look well-acquainted with the right end of a pistol.” They gave me twin glares.

“The problem, Mr. Taylor, is that this gentleman rubs a lot of folks the wrong way. He has heavy security around him at all times. It’s nearly impossible for anyone to get near him.”

“And I can because?

“Because of your special skills.”

This bloke was getting on my nerves. I didn’t know how he’d found me, and I wasn’t sure whether he knew what I was. But I was getting good and tired of his roundabout conversation. “Sal. What is it you expect I can do?” I cocked an eyebrow at him, all casual, but he suddenly looked a mite nervous, and his boys shifted their hands under their coats.

“Santoro—that’s his name, Claudio Santoro—visits his mother’s grave every single Wednesday night at seven. He’s been doing it for twenty years, never misses a week.”

“That’s nice, when a bloke respects his mum.” I wasn’t being sarcastic. I’d respected my own, until I killed her, with the best of intentions. Didn’t work out as I’d planned, but then a lot of things didn’t.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Russo muttered. “So next Wednesday, you can be ready for him.”

I sat back against the seat and crossed my arms. “And you expect me to do what? Creep up on him in the cemetery? Again, your boys could do that.”

“No, he’ll have his bodyguards there, too. Nobody could get within firing range of him.”

“So?”

“So….” Russo took a deep breath. “There’s an empty spot next to his mother. It’s reserved for him. We bury you there, and then you pop out when he arrives. He won’t be expecting that, that’s for sure. You’ll have plenty of time to take out him and his guards.”

I thought about this for several minutes. I didn’t really fancy being buried. I had been once already, and it wasn’t pleasant. Waking undead, starving, confused, having to claw your way out of your own grave—not the best of times. And I’d had my beautiful Dru waiting for me that first time, ready to lead me into all sorts of delights. I could manage being buried, though, if I had to, and it did seem like it might be a good way to get at this Santoro bloke. The real question, then, was why I should bother.

“What’s in it for me?” I asked, and Russo smiled widely, like he knew the deal was already done.

“Ten grand,” he said. “And my associates and I will look the other way if you choose to engage in any…activities…in our territory.”

The second part of his promise was of little concern to me. I’d hunt where I pleased anyhow, and, as I said, I preferred not to in my own neighborhood. But ten thousand dollars was enough to pay the rent for a year, with a bit left over to buy cigarettes and whiskey. And just for killing some git, which was something I did for free all the time. Besides, it sounded like a bit of a challenge, and I did like challenges now and then.

“All right,” I said.

Russo’s smile just about split his face open. He stuck out his hand, which I ignored. Instead I glanced again at the telly. It was nearly ten. _Kojak_ would be on shortly. Russo nodded at one of his men—I couldn’t remember whether it was Lo Piccolo or Buscetta—and the man dug in his jacket pocket. I tensed slightly, but he pulled out only a thick stack of green bills, which he tossed to his boss. Russo caught it deftly and laid it between us on the loveseat. “That’s five. You get the rest after Santoro’s dead.”

I nodded at him, and he stood. “We’ll have to bury you the night before, Mr. Taylor. There won’t be enough time after sundown on Wednesday.” I frowned at this, but he was probably correct. “We’ll pick you up at two in the morning on Tuesday, okay?”

“Fine.”

They left right after, and I sat on the blue cushion, thumbing that stack of dollars.

 

Russo and his men were very punctual, knocking on my door at 1:57 precisely. I was slightly pissed. If I was going to have to lay there underground all day, at least I didn’t have to be sober. Russo had a nice new Cadillac, and I sat in the back with him while the goons squeezed into the front.

We drove over the bridge and into Brooklyn, none of us saying a word, just watching the light flurries outside the windows. It was nice and warm in the car but I shivered, knowing it was going to be bloody cold in the ground. The gates to the place were open when we got there, and I wondered whether Russo had paid someone off. We parked and trudged across the frozen dirt.

There it was. Nice marker, expensive, with a statue of the Virgin Mary on top. “Maria Santoro. August 3, 1901-April 14, 1957. Beloved wife and mother.” I wondered what had happened to her husband. Still walking the earth, perhaps.

As Russo had promised, the plot next to hers was empty, but a shallow indentation had already been dug there. Not six feet deep, no need for that, but enough to cover me when the sun rose. A pair of shovels leaned against Maria’s headstone. There were a few last minute instructions, and then I lay down in the sodding hole and Lo Piccolo and Buscetta started to dump spadefuls of dirt on top of me. Normally, the disturbed ground would have been a giveaway, but they were going to smooth snow over me when they were done, and the flakes that were still falling would help with the camouflage as well. It was hard to remain calm as I was buried. I knew I didn’t need to breathe, but habits like that don’t die when the body does, and I’d always been a bit claustrophobic in any case.

By the time I was completely covered and I’d heard them walk away, I was also, regrettably, sober. Damn vampire constitution isn’t always a good thing. So I lay there, feeling the dirt trickle into my nose and ears, thankful that at least it was too cold for many little creepy crawlies to be about. It was hard to remain still—I never was much good at that—and I tried to get some sleep. But I was cold and uncomfortable, and there was the additional knowledge that soon the sun was going to be shining just a few inches over me. Even though I was well covered, that made my nerves tingle.

It was a long day, and I had no way to track the time. Nobody came by. I expect it was too cold for most mourners. Finally, though, I felt footsteps shaking the ground a bit, and a moment later I heard low voices. They were male, and as they came closer, I could make out their conversation, which had something to do with moving shipments of stolen cigarettes. I wished I had a fag myself, just then, but at least I knew these were likely the right blokes.

Their discussion died out and I reckoned Santoro was paying his respects to mum. I shifted to demon face, bunched up my muscles, and then sprang out of the ground with a huge roar.

Four blokes were looking back at me, and at least two of them had already pissed themselves. Three of them reached for guns. I leapt toward them. One of the ones with a gun screamed like a little girl and took off running. Dunno whatever happened to him. The other two actually managed to get their weapons out, and then one of them pulled the trigger. Shot me in the chest. It wasn’t a bad shot—would have bloody well stopped a human. And it sodding _hurt_, but didn’t do me much real damage. When they saw I was still coming after them, they ran, too. One of them tripped over a headstone and fell. I stopped and snapped his neck. The other was fast, but I caught up with him and grabbed him and tore his throat out.

Then I turned back to the last one, who was still rooted to the spot. Had to have been Santoro himself. He was short and very round. Must’ve weighed twenty stone. Had on an expensive coat, though, and there was a bouquet of hothouse roses in his hand. His gob was open big enough to drive a lorry through.

I stalked closer, until even in the dark and softly falling snow he had a good look at the blood on my face and on my fangs—still had fangs then, of course—and I growled.

I never was much of one to play with my food, not like some of the members of my family. I fancied a good brawl now and then, but this bloke was clearly not going to be much of an opponent. Besides, my chest hurt and I wanted a nice warm bath and a bottle or three of Jack. I lunged at him, meaning to make it nice and quick.

And he collapsed just like that, just like slaves do when you deactivate us.

I walked up to him, and there was no heartbeat. His eyes were staring straight up, and he didn’t blink when snowflakes fell in them. He was stone cold dead, right on top of his mum’s grave. Heart attack, perhaps, or a stroke.

Their car was parked nearby. Nice, new Lincoln. Keys were still in the ignition. I got inside and cranked up the heat, and then I drove it back into Manhattan. I left it about ten blocks away from my flat. I expect it was gone and stripped even before I made it home. I climbed out of my filthy clothes and had that bath I was wanting. Got all the dirt out of my hair and dried blood off my skin. I polished off those bottles of Jack while I was still in the water.

The next night, there was another knock at my door. I’d been flipping back and forth between _Hawaii Five-O_ and _Man from Atlantis_, not really watching either. Mostly just drinking and smoking and trying to decide whether I felt like braving the cold and going out for a bite. That bullet hole was still healing, and that always took a few extra pints.

I wasn’t surprised to discover Russo and his shadows at my door. Russo looked smug. His boys just glowered, but that was nothing new. I let them in and, just like before, Russo sat on my ugly loveseat and I sat beside him.

We just sat there a moment, eyeing one another. I lit a fag. Finally, he cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “It seems Claudio Santoro’s life came to an untimely end last night.”

“Was a rough night,” I responded, puffing out smoke. “Two of his guards bought it as well.”

Russo’s grin was a predatory as a shark’s. “Yes. Such a shame.”

We just stared at each other a while longer.

“Look,” I said. “You owe me five grand. I’m willing to throw the other two in for free, but I want my payment now, and then we can end this nice little social call. Got places I have to be.” I didn’t, but I wasn’t enjoying the company much.

Russo stretched his fat lips even wider. “Mr. Taylor, I’ll be delighted to compensate you for your work.” He stood and walked toward the door. “Nino. Pay the man.”

One of the goons reached into his coat again. All three of them tensed, and I just had time to vamp out before he threw something at me, hard. It hit my shoulder and bounced off, and I tensed as well, expecting something to blow up.

Nothing did.

I looked down at my bare feet. Lying on top of them was a braid of garlic.

I looked up at the three men near my door and raised one eyebrow. “Garlic?” I said, nice and quiet.

Russo and the other man swiveled their heads towards the bloke who’d tossed it at me. “It was supposed to work!” he whined. “You know. Vampires. Garlic.”

I laughed and stooped for a moment to pick the thing up. I took a big bite from one of the bulbs, feeling my fangs crunch through the papery skin. “Yeah? And I expect you think I can turn into a bat as well.” I swallowed and they all flinched slightly backwards, as if they did expect me to start flapping around. They flinched again when I tossed the garlic aside and took a step closer.

“What’s with the produce, Sal? Decided you didn’t want to shell out the five thousand? Or did you just want me out of the picture?”

His smile was long gone. As I came closer, he grimaced and yanked a wooden stake out from under his coat. “Sal,” I said. “Is that a stake in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”

“Come any closer and I’ll ram this through your heart!” he said. But his hand was shaking so badly he wouldn’t be able to properly stake a kitten. I took another step, and the goons both drew their guns.

“Silver bullets!” said one of them.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s werewolves, you twat. Do I look furry to you?”

As they all contemplated that question, I pounced at Russo. Naturally, the thugs shot me, and naturally in such a small space, a few of the bullets found me. A few found their boss, too, so when I broke his neck a moment later, he was already dying. Then I turned on them.

It worked out fairly well. I had a couple of new holes in me, but plenty of blood to mend them with. I didn’t even have to go out in the cold to grab a meal. And when I went through the dead men’s pockets, I found nearly two thousand dollars. Not as much as they’d owed me, but still good.

I did have to move. I left the mess for my landlady to deal with, packed up the few things I owned, and checked into a good hotel. I found a new flat soon, better than the old one, and the landlord was nicer, too.

Police chalked up the killings to a gang war, and that worked out well for me as well. The gangsters started trying to rub each other out all over town, and nobody much noticed if some of the bodies had tooth marks in their necks. Mobsters carry a lot of dosh—I was well set for ages.

And then not too much later I killed a Slayer. My second. And acquired a duster I owned for years after. Dru came back, too, going on about how Miss Edith was tired of the stars. We hopped a freighter and sailed to Europe, where we had a lovely time until we ran into some troubles in Prague.

That was one of two times I lived in New York. It’s all under water, I expect. Funny to think of sharks swimming around now, where those mobsters and I once prowled.

 

***

Spike was exhausted. His throat was dry and sore from so much talking—more than he’d spoken in several centuries, most likely. His stomach gurgled unhappily because he’d never been given the second feeding of the day. His arse was sore from the enthusiastic buggering Master had given him when his story was done. Tralfos had deactivated him before he’d settled himself properly, and now he was draped uncomfortably over someone else’s bony legs. He knew he had only a handful of days left before he’d be confined in the mines.

And yet, he was as close to content as he’d been in a long time.

Master had followed his story, entranced, his eyes shining with excitement. When Spike finished, half-expecting punishment, Master had clapped his hands in approval. Then he’d dragged Spike over the chair and fucked him, and, either by accident or intention, had angled himself just right so that Spike came for the second time that day. He hadn’t been angry about that, either, but had only chuckled and slapped Spike’s arse playfully. For the first time in many years Spike felt sated.

More importantly, though, Master had listened to him, had treated him as something slightly more than a fucktoy or a machine. It was so little, and meant so much. Spike knew he’d be reliving this day for a very long time.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004ww3a/)  
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 [Chapter Four](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/62038.html)


	4. That One Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 4/17**_  
**Chapter:** 4/17   
**Chapter Title: **That One Time   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)   
I have such great art for this fic it's almost overwhelming. Today's fantastic banner is by [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/), and the pretty art at the end is by [](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/profile)[**zoesmith**](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/). Thank you so much! Beautiful art adds so much to a story, I think.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004xe0g/g51)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Four**

**That One Time**

 

As soon as he arrived in the fields, Spike realized he had even less time than he’d hoped. The berries were getting scarce and it was going to be difficult to make quota today. There were likely only two or three more days left of the harvest.

The other slaves didn’t know what was in store for them, of course. They assumed they’d be off to the ice fields next. But even that was enough to give them a sheen of desolation, a certain wildness to their eyes. Mid-morning, one of them, a tiny female with curly red hair and freckles, threw down her bag in the middle of a row and hunched there protectively. When the overseer zapped her with increasingly strong punishments, she screamed silently but did not stand or begin working again. Finally, he deactivated her, and then two of the overseers dragged her limp body out of the field feet-first. Spike watched her bright hair scoring the dirt and shuddered, knowing what was going to happen to her. He didn’t stop picking, though.

The suns had just passed their zeniths when Spike saw Tralfos come wandering up to one of the overseers. His breath caught in his throat. Surely Master didn’t—

“Forty-five seventeen! Move your ass!” shouted the overseer. Spike ran to the scale with his half-full bag and then presented himself to Tralfos.

Tralfos barely spoke as he led Spike away and then prepared him as he had before. He muttered under his breath, though, and Spike got the definite impression that he wasn’t pleased to be fetching Spike again. Spike, on the other hand, was thrilled. More precious hours of relative comfort. Perhaps Master would want him to speak again. It seemed far too much to hope for.

Today the woman in Master’s chamber seemed a trifle friendlier. She didn’t glare at him quite so much, and her voice was almost kind when she ordered him to wash his legs. As she led him to the rug, his stomach rumbled and he winced, waiting for her to punish him. Instead, though, she frowned thoughtfully at him. “Were you fed yesterday evening?” she asked.

“No, mistress.”

Her frown deepened. “I bet he won’t remember tonight, either,” she mumbled to herself. He knelt on the rug and she left.

She returned within ten or fifteen minutes, however. And when she came back, she had a feed container in her hand. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Eat this, quickly.”

He was almost too surprised to move, but then he bowed deeply and tore open the packet, chugging the foul stuff as fast he could. She put her hand out for the empty package and he bowed again and gave it to her. And then she smiled at him, kindly, and left again.

He was still mulling that small incident over when the door slammed open and Master rushed in. Spike instantly dropped his face to the floor, but he’d seen that Master was filthy and disheveled, and that he was carrying a covered tray. The tray must have had food on it, because Spike could smell it, and it was very nice. Grilled meat and onions and fresh bread, and some of the green leafy stuff the Masters grew in their household gardens.

Master stomped over and dropped the tray on the small table next to his armchair. “Stand up,” he said impatiently, and Spike scrambled to his feet. “I want to hear another story from you. Something else from Earth. But I need to shower first. You can think of a good story while I’m cleaning up. And get rid of that stupid shift.”

Spike hurriedly pulled the thing off. Master looked thoughtfully at Spike’s cock, which had been hard again since Tralfos had slicked him. “Go ahead and take care of that, too, if you want,” Master said, pointing. “I’ll be out in ten.”

Spike shut his gaping mouth as Master walked off to the bathroom. He had never before been given permission to wank purely for his own relief, but he was fairly certain that was what Master had meant. With a shake of his head, he grasped his erection and began stroking it firmly, occasionally rubbing a finger over his slit or toying briefly with his retracted foreskin. It felt good, not just because he was touching himself, but also because he was doing so without an audience, and to please himself. He didn’t have much time, though. So he cradled his bollocks with his other hand, rubbing and lightly pulling, and bucked his hips urgently. He fished around for a mental image that would hurry things along, and then he found it. Dark brown hair. Soft, slightly wavy. Bobbing leisurely at his groin as a moist mouth nursed at his cock in a blow job that could go on all evening. Hands stroking lightly at the inside of his thighs, teasing him. And then the mouth moving off of him, and now that hair was tickling his neck as sweet endearments were breathed in his ear. “I love you,” in the faintest of whispers, and that was enough. Spike gasped and came, his cold seed filling his hand as he continued to thrust slowly into his fist.

Master returned just as Spike was staring at his hand, wondering what to do about the mess. “Kept it off my rug this time, huh?” Master laughed. “Go clean up.”

Spike went into the bathroom, which was still slightly steamy. He liked the spicy scent of Master’s soap. He quickly wiped himself off, then returned to the bedroom. Master was in his chair, the tray balanced in his lap. He was slicing into a steak with a large, black-handled knife. “Have a seat,” he said, pointing at the rug with his knife-tip. Spike sank to the floor.

Master chewed and swallowed, and then took a long drink from the glass of cold water that was on a coaster on the table. Spike looked at the layer of moisture condensation in fascination, imagining how nice it would feel to roll that cool surface over his still-warm skin.

“Okay,” Master said. “I liked that story yesterday. But there was a lot of stuff you said that I didn’t understand. I mean, I’ve read plenty of history books, but most of them aren’t so detailed.” He looked at Spike expectantly.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Spike said.

“No, no, don’t be sorry. It was good. That’s what I want, the details. I can read that dry history all day, but what I really want to know was what it was like to live on Earth, back then.”

Spike swallowed and frowned at the floor.

“What?” Master said. “That’s a problem?”

“No, Master. It’s only…I was only alive a short time. Not even thirty years. And nothing much happened to me then.”

“But you were on Earth a lot longer than that as a vampire, right?”

“Over two hundred years, Master.”

“And interesting things happened to you then? Like the story you told yesterday.”

“Yes, Master.”

Master nodded. “Good. Then that’s what I want to hear about.” He took a last big mouthful of his steak and Spike looked up at him, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“Do…do you want to hear more about New York, Master?”

“No. Tell about someplace else today.”

“Yes, Master.” He took a deep breath. “This was earlier—“

“Wait.”

Spike shut his mouth and waited while Master polished off his roll and then drained his water. Master got up and took his tray over to the desk, where he left it. He came back with his Scotch bottle in one hand, a tumbler in another, and a notepad under one arm. He had a pen in his mouth. He sat again, arranging the drinks things and then resting the pad on his knee and placing the pen in his fingers. Spike hadn’t seen anyone actually write in ages. Most people used small computers instead.

“I’m going to take notes on all the stuff I don’t understand. Then I can look it up later.”

“I…I can explain if you like, Master.”

“No, then you’d be interrupting your story every three seconds. This is better.”

He was probably right, Spike thought, although Spike wouldn’t at all mind drawing out the process.

Master took a sip of his Scotch and settled back into his chair. “Okay,” he said, looking at Spike expectantly.

“This happened earlier, in—“

“Wait. One more thing. What’s your name?”

“I’m…4517, Master,” Spike said.

“Yeah, but you had a real name, didn’t you? Something less awkward than a bunch of numbers. Was it William Taylor?”

Spike was stunned. His name. He hadn’t spoken it out loud, or heard anyone else speak it, in hundreds of years. Sometimes he had to remind himself that he had one, that he wasn’t just 4517.

“Spike,” he whispered. “My name is Spike.”

Master smiled at him. “All right. Go on with your story, Spike.”

Spike shut his eyes to hold back the tears, and struggled fiercely to get his voice under control. “This was….” He swallowed, then cleared his throat. “This was in 1897. Budapest.”

 

***

 

Budapest was beautiful then. It was one of the great capitals of Europe, really three old cities that merged into each other over the Danube, and at the time it was full of culture and high society. But just outside there was still forest, and the tumbled remains of old castles, and superstitious peasants. It was the sort of place where there was always plotting and warring, and old resentments never quite faded away.

I arrived in early spring with my family—my vampire family. Drusilla, whom I already told you about, who was my sire. Angelus, who sired her. And Darla, who sired Angelus. We’d been traveling together since Dru turned me in 1880, and the rest had been together before that. We had our differences, but we also had a brilliant time, killing and fighting and fucking our way across Europe. We’d spent the winter in Spain, but Dru wanted to go east—something about the raindrops singing the name “Budapest” to her—so east we went. Darla and Angelus enjoyed dressing up and going to the opera, and Dru was content to stay in the little house we’d found and play with her dolls, but I liked going out and getting pissed on Unicum and Egri Bikavér and absinthe, and then getting into a scrap or two. There were quite a few demons about—there always were, in those old cities—and they were usually good for a few spots of violence that wouldn’t arouse the local police too much.

We’d been there about three weeks when this tosser showed up. The Immortal. We’d had troubles with him before. Would again. This time, he did the same as he had a few years earlier, in Rome. He arrived and somehow used his underhanded tricks to lure away our birds. So Darla and Dru were gone, for a time anyway. Angelus wanted to chase after them, but that hadn’t worked out well the last time, and besides, I was tired of running after them like a dog. So it was just the two of us.

‘Gelus and I didn’t always get along. Wait. That’s not true. We didn’t ever get along, at least not for more than a short time. He was a controlling bastard, and brooded or bloodied when he didn’t get his way. Although he hadn’t even begun to perfect his brooding skills yet, as it turned out. But he was already good at it, anyway. And although he’d been a whoring drunk as a man, and was a vicious horror as a vampire, he also liked to think himself cultured, an intellectual of sorts. So he tried to drag me to the theaters with him.

Me, I’d had quite enough of that when I was human. I reckoned, what was the point of being a demon if you weren’t going to have any fun at it? I tried to get the big pouf to go to bars with me. There was this lovely demon bar off Andrásy Út, dark and crowded. The drinks were always strong and there was always a fight breaking out. I tried to talk him into going there, but he wouldn’t have it.

So we were just sitting about the house, sniping at each other, and neither of us was particularly happy. Then Angelus had an idea.

“You know, William my boy, there’s a convent just ten minutes’ walk from here.”

I sighed. He had a thing about the church—nuns and priests and all that rot. Git had some serious issues to work out as far as that was concerned. William had been my name when I was human, and I hated it when he called me that, which was why he did it.

I growled back at him, “Yeah? So?”

“If it’s entertainment of the bloodier type you’re after, we could find that there.”

“I expect so. But the birds in habits don’t really put up much of a fight, do they? If we go to that pub I was talking about, we can likely find a Fyarl or two to wrestle. I saw some hanging about the other day.”

“Sure, but I was thinking of some of the other fun we could have with the ladies at the convent, and I think even you would draw the line at that sort of fun with Fyarls.”

“Oi!” I snapped. “I’m not nearly as bent as you, Liam.” I wasn’t. Fact is, I occasionally liked to make a pretty girl cry before I killed her, and what better way to do that than to steal her virginity? But mostly, I shagged Dru, who was enough to keep even a vampire satisfied, when she was around and more or less in her right mind. Angelus was the one who liked to rape nuns—and, every now and then, a handsome young cleric.

Angelus stood up, walked across the room, and reached for his coat. “Well, stay here then, if you’re so inclined. I’m going to pay a visit to the sisters.”

He knew I didn’t fancy being alone. It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle myself. I was hardly a fledge anymore. Hell, only three years later I killed my first Slayer, which was something ‘Gelus never did manage. But I wasn’t meant to be solitary; it wasn’t my nature. And I didn’t want to stay in that house all by myself. Not even any telly to watch in those days. So I sighed and grabbed my coat as well.

I don’t know how he knew about this convent. I expect he kept an eye out for them as he traveled, the way a birdwatcher looks for waxwings. It was quite late out already, perhaps one or two, and the streets were mostly deserted. It was a lovely evening, actually, with a warm, gentle breeze and the scents of new growing things, even in the city. Our boots echoed loudly on the cobblestones. The houses in this neighborhood were new, and quite posh, and the streets were tidy. We were in the higher bit of town, just near Gellért Hill, where Saint Gerard collected the people’s gratitude for trying to convert them to Christianity.

We turned onto a smaller street and there was a grand house, sort of an Italianate villa, with terraces and gardens all around. As late as it was, the house was all lit up, and music poured from the open doors and windows. People in fancy clothes were everywhere, talking and dancing and laughing, likely all a bit drunk. Angelus and I froze and stared at it from the darkness.

I had mixed emotions about what I saw. A part of me was angry, reminded of a party I’d attended the night I died, and that party hadn’t gone well at all. A part of me was hungry, imagining how easy it would be to snatch some of those pretty people away and listen to them scream, see their blood ruin their expensive kits. But a part was wistful, sad to see an existence—a life—I could never have again.

And then Angelus caught up my hands and began to dance with me.

My grandsire was a hard one to read, and more than a bit mad. He liked to play games, as well, not very nice games. I’d been at the wrong end of his attention more than once over the years. Truthfully, I didn’t always mind. Sometimes I got him riled up on purpose, just to get him to notice me. But this night I wasn’t in any mood to drag myself home in bloody little pieces, so I hesitated when he began to pull me into a waltz.

“C’mon, boy,” he purred at me. “Dance with me.”

I reckoned that if the ponce wanted to dance, there wasn’t much I could do about it. He was big, much stronger than me back then. So we waltzed.

Angelus was a terrible dancer. And of course he insisted on leading as well. But he was smiling pleasantly at me—an unusual expression for him—and when the song ended he bowed, and then began the next. When I relaxed, I realized I was enjoying myself. I don’t know why, really. Dancing in the dark with a psychotic, moping demon. Most blokes wouldn’t have that on the top of their to-do list. But it was nice, and we danced for nearly half an hour, until the band stopped and the people began to leave the party.

Then we continued down the street in search of the convent. We weren’t speaking, weren’t touching one another any more, except sometimes we bumped shoulders together. Like friends do, or lovers, or family. People who care about one another.

The convent was just a few minutes away, and it was locked up tight this time of night. We couldn’t get in, of course, not without an invite. But Angelus had a plan, one he’d used before. It worked better with the girls, actually, but we could manage without. First, he mussed up my clothes, made it look like I’d had a good tumble in the dirt. I wasn’t too pleased about that—I liked what I was wearing—but he did take care not to tear the cloth. Then he rumpled my hair, and dropped a few bits of leaves and twigs in it. Usually the last step was for him to give me a few good thumps, bloody my face up all nicely, so I waited for that. Tonight, though, he didn’t. Instead he bit into his own wrist and smeared his blood across my cheeks. The scent of his blood—sire’s blood—was enough to get me hard. But he didn’t smirk about it, only smiled again and waited until I had myself under control. Wouldn’t do to greet the sisters with my knob sticking up.

He rang the bell. When we heard footsteps approaching a few moments later, I arranged myself in his arms, slumping as if I was barely hanging onto consciousness.

The gate opened, and there was a lady, tiny and so wrinkled she looked as if she’d likely witnessed Saint Gerard’s fall herself. She was in nightclothes, with a heavy robe on and her gray hair sticking out from under a nightcap. “Igen?” she said.

Angelus said something in Hungarian. I didn’t speak the lingo myself, but it didn’t particularly matter. I knew what he was saying to her: Help, my brother has fallen and hurt himself, please can you aid us? I moaned for effect.

The old biddy peered at us and then motioned us inside. Angelus half-carried me along the path. When we got to the door, he paused and said something else, something along the lines of, “Are you certain it’s all right for us to enter?”

She nodded and gestured and said some more words, and whatever they were, they were enough to let us in. We followed her through a hall and into the kitchen, which was immaculate. She lit a lamp—the convent didn’t have electricity yet—and then wandered out of the room to shout something up the stairs.

She limped back into the kitchen and held the lamp close so she could stare at me. Angelus had draped me over a chair, clutching my shoulders as if he were holding me upright. She touched a hand to my forehead and said, “Itt fáj?” I moaned again.

We heard feet clattering down the stairs and then we were surrounded by wizened ladies in gowns, each one older and uglier than her sister next to her. If this was all the convent held, I hoped Angelus didn’t plan to go ahead with the raping portion of the night’s entertainment, and that he’d be satisfied with the murdering and pillaging bits.

They clustered close, and I moaned a third time. I saw Angelus’s muscles tense and his eyes turn yellow, and I prepared to let my own fangs drop. But then the one who’d let us in suddenly shrieked, “Vámpírok!” and I didn’t have to speak Hungarian to know what that meant.

And then they attacked.

I don’t know what those bints were. They weren’t ordinary run-of-the-mill nuns, that’s certain. They were strong, and they had claws and teeth as sharp as ours, and they made these horrible squealing sounds that weren’t remotely human.

Angelus and I fought them off as best as we could. But there were perhaps a dozen of them, and only the two of us, and in the end the best we could manage was an undignified retreat. We ran out of that house, bloody and battered, our legs moving as fast as we could make them. The sisters pursued us only as far as the street, I think, but we kept on running down the hill, past the party that was now mostly over, across the bridge, and into our house, where we barricaded the door and then collapsed on the floor.

We lay there for a long time, panting. Finally, Angelus staggered to his feet and then bent and held out a hand to me. I took it and he pulled me up. We went into the bath and pulled off our clothing, which was ruined. I grabbed some towels and we spent some time cleaning ourselves up, dabbing at our wounds.

Angelus was more injured than I was, and I watched him for a while as he patched himself up. He was in his mid-twenties when he was turned; a good age to die. Tall and broad, very muscular. He had a heavy face, with dark eyes and a big chin. When he smiled you could see his nice teeth, which were rare for someone born in his time. His hair was always stupid, no matter the era. In 1897, he wore it long. He’d tie it back, but he was always losing the ribbon, and usually his hair hung about his face, as it did now. He turned and bent to put on the bath tap, and I admired his tattoo. It was a gryphon holding the letter A. I never knew if that was for Angelus or for Aurelius, the name of our family.

When the tub was half-full, he lifted one long leg over the side, then the other, and sat down in the steaming water. He looked at me, then, with this little smile he had—his mouth quirked up on one side and the edges of his eyes crinkled. “Join me?” he said.

For a moment, I thought he might be mocking me. But then I remembered our dance, and I shrugged. “All right,” I said.

I stood at the edge of the tub, uncertain about how to position myself. He grabbed my hand, then, and pulled at me until I was sitting with my back against his chest, my legs cradled inside his. He leaned back against the edge of the bath and I leaned back with him. It was bloody lovely.

Sitting like that, I felt his cock when it hardened against my arse. So I wasn’t surprised when he began running one of his great mitts over my chest, stroking my hip with the other. I was surprised, though, at how gentle he was about it. Tender.

I’d never shagged a bloke before. I was a virgin when I died, but wouldn’t even have considered having sex with a man. You could be sent to prison for it. My mum would have been horrified. Even after I was turned, I’d stuck to girls. Like I said, mostly Dru, but now and then someone I ate. But that didn’t mean I didn’t find men attractive, and Angelus truly was beautiful.

We stayed in the bath a long time, Angelus simply stroking and rubbing me, or sometimes tilting my head so we could kiss. That was brilliant, as well. He was a good kisser, and he tasted of the blood we’d drunk early in the evening.

When the water grew cold, he pushed me off himself, and then pulled the plug and stood. I did, too, and he took my hand and led me, still wet, to his bed. It was a huge one, with a canopy and hanging draperies and mounds of pillows. He usually shared it with Darla, occasionally with Dru. We lay down on it on our sides, facing one another, and we kissed for a long time while our hands wandered. I’d never explored another man’s body like that. It was a revelation. His skin was just as silky, but he was all firm where a woman was soft, thick and meaty instead of all angles like Dru. But his nipples were as sensitive as hers. And when I bent my head and sucked on them, he threw his head back with an expression of pleasure I’d never seen on him before, not when he was fighting or killing, not even when he was fucking one of the girls.

I decided, while I was being adventurous, to try something else new. So I kissed my way down Angelus’s chest and his slightly soft belly, and then I licked at his cock. I’d seen it before, of course. We’d travelled together for nearly twenty years at that point, and he wasn’t exactly shy. But I’d never seen it—or any cock, for that matter—close up like this, and I took a long time to explore it with my eyes and fingers and tongue. I mouthed at his bollocks as well, and licked at the tender skin behind them, until he was writhing and swearing and grabbing at my hair.

Suddenly he growled and bent down, and threw me upwards on the bed so that I landed on my back with my head on the pillows. He nipped at me and licked at all my wounds. Then he spread my legs and sucked at the inside of my thigh, right where my leg met my torso. His stupid hair was damp and it tickled me. He shifted a bit, and wrapped that ham fist around my cock, which had been untouched this whole time and was throbbing with need. He petted and fondled it, softly, teasing me, and then he spread my legs a bit more and tucked the tip of his tongue into my sphincter.

That was a first for me, and for a brief moment I froze. But his hand was still moving, and his tongue was making little curling strokes, and it felt so bloody good that soon I was pushing against him with my hips, trying to get that tongue in a bit more. When he sat up, I swore and nearly went into gameface.

But all he did was reach for the bedside table and a small bottle of oil, and soon his fingers had replaced his tongue. They pushed inside me, all slick and hard, and when he brushed against my prostate I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“You like that, boy?” he laughed.

“Yeah,” I panted. “More. More, please.”

He laughed again and did it one more time and I cried out. But then he removed his fingers altogether and I snarled and he laughed some more.

He grabbed a pillow and tucked it under my arse, then bent my knees up and apart. By the time he was pressing the head of his cock against me I was whining and almost crying with need. I don’t know that I’d ever wanted anything as much as I wanted that cock inside me.

A moment later, it was. It hurt, of course, but only a bit. And a bit of pain is certainly no deterrent to a vampire. He was so slow and careful about this, too, so very unlike him. Soon he was completely seated within me, and the stretching was delicious.

He looked down at me, rather smugly, actually. “Bloody _move_, git!” I said, and slapped his arse. He slid back and forth a few times, excruciatingly slowly, each time almost but not quite pulling all the way out. It was torture. I wrapped my legs around him and tilted my hips up, and then he began pounding into me, hard and fast, while I frantically wanked.

I’d like to say we lasted for hours, vampire constitution and all. But we’d led up to it slowly, and it had been a long night, and I think we were both rather excited. Within minutes, I was coming so hard I saw stars, and then he was jerking against me and howling and I felt his cool spend bathing my sore tissues. He collapsed on top of me and it was a good thing I didn’t need to breathe, the big sod.

Eventually he rolled off of me, and curled around me like a great poufter, and we spent that morning sleeping together in his bed, snuggled up like a pair of lovers.

I woke that afternoon to find him looming over me, staring down at me with a frown on that huge brow of his. I tensed, expecting him to hit me, or at least shove me off the bed. But what he did was say, softly, “We’ll never speak of last night to the girls. Right, William?”

I wanted to be angry at him. In truth, I was a bit hurt. Then he leaned down and kissed me once more on the lips, softly and sweetly, and that was all right.

Darla and Dru returned that night, still giggling about their adventures with the Immortal. For once, I didn’t feel jealous. I even caught Angelus giving me a fond look now and then.

We had to leave Budapest, of course. No telling what kind of trouble we’d face on account of those nuns. Angelus insisted he had an overwhelming urge to visit Romania, so we packed up the following night and left. Got ourselves into a pack of trouble there as well. But I expect that’s another story.

 

***

 

Spike swallowed and ducked his head, uncertain whether Master would consider his last words—or perhaps the entire tale—overly disrespectful. Master sighed deeply, like a man who’d just had a very satisfying meal. Then he bent over and ran a hand through Spike’s hair. “That was good,” he murmured. “I could picture it. I’m going to have to look Budapest up on the tablet, see if I can find some old pictures.

“Now, come here, and show me what you did with Angelus.”

So Spike sucked Master’s cock for a time, and then once again Master bent him over the chair and drilled into him. At the same time, though, Master stripped Spike’s cock with his rough hand, and Spike came before Master did, splattering the leather with pearly drops.

Master grunted and came, and then pulled out and stood straight. He ran his hand down Spike’s spine, making the skin shiver. “Thanks for the story, Spike,” he said.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004a834/)  
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[ Chapter Five](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/62814.html)


	5. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 5/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade  
**Chapter:** 5/17   
**Chapter Title: **The Arrangement   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)   
I have such great art for this fic it's almost overwhelming. Today's fantastic banner is by [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/), and the pretty art at the end was lent to me by [](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/profile)[**katekat1010**](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/). Thank you so much! Beautiful art adds so much to a story, I think. The silly photo is mine. :-)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004xe0g/)  
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****

 

Chapter Five

**The Arrangement**

 

It was the last day of the harvest. The slaves had spent the day desperately moving through the fields, trying to find the last few berries, all of them knowing that they weren’t going to make their quotas. But Spike was doubly distracted, partly by his knowledge of what would happen to him after today, and partly because he half expected to see Tralfos come wandering on up to the edge of the field. Tralfos didn’t, though, and Spike spent the entire day with the other slaves.

Of course, their harvests were short today, and even though the overseers knew it wasn’t the slaves’ fault, they had to punish them anyhow. Maybe to make a point, or perhaps just because they knew it was their last chance. As the slaves were made to kneel in rows in front of their quarters, Spike idly wondered what would become of the overseers once the slaves were sent to the mines. One of the overseers, the skinny bitch with the whip-cord muscles, depressed a button on her controller. All the vampires immediately clutched their heads and twitched in the dirt, screaming silently. All except Spike, of course, whose cries were loud and echoing.

As the pain ebbed away, the overseer came over and kicked at his spine. “Why is this one making noise?” she asked the universe in general.

One of her colleagues answered her. “One of the bosses has been using him. I suppose he kept the voice on.”

She hissed in annoyance and used the controller again. Spike felt a click in his throat and knew he was once again unable to form sounds. “There,” she said with satisfaction in her tone. Spike had hoped his voice would go unnoticed for a while longer. Not that he’d have any opportunity to use it, but just knowing he could make sounds was somehow reassuring.

Spike was near the center of the room that night, and managed to settle into a comfortable position before he was paralyzed. He couldn’t sleep, though. The red-headed vampire, the one they’d dragged away the other day, was laid out next to him. He couldn’t see her now, in the dark, but he’d got a good look before the door closed. They’d flayed her, removed nearly every inch of skin from her body. It would grow back again, eventually, but in the meantime there was unrelenting pain, and every tiny movement would be fresh agony. He knew this firsthand. He’d been punished that way himself, once, centuries ago.

 

It was later than usual when the door crashed open. The suns had already risen. The slaves were permitted to move and then ordered to file outside. Spike felt drowned in waves of dismay as they filed down the road—no feed this morning—and caught sight of the big wooden shipping containers. For the last twenty or thirty autumns, they’d been crammed into those boxes so tightly they could scarcely breathe, and then deactivated while they were transported to the ice fields. He never knew which was worse: being motionless for so long, or feeling the temperature gradually drop and knowing that soon he’d be fully exposed to the biting cold.

This year was even worse, though, because he knew those crates were on their way to the mines.

One by one, the slaves were scanned and then shoved into a box. The vampire they’d skinned couldn’t walk. Two of the slaves had been made to carry her from their sleeping quarters, and now they tossed her into a container and then piled on top of her themselves.

Spike watched, his gut twisting in fear.

And then from behind him, an overseer shouted, “Forty-five seventeen!” Spike whipped around, and nearly fainted when he saw Tralfos. Tralfos gestured impatiently at him and Spike trotted over on wobbly legs.

“Follow me,” the man growled.

Spike stood under the spigot, the same as before, and then followed Tralfos toward the big house. For once, he was almost glad he was mute, because he wasn’t sure he could have stopped himself from begging the man to tell him what was going on. Did Master want one last fuck before he sent the slaves away? One last tale?

As it turned out, he had to wait a long while to learn the answer. The woman led him to cleanse his legs, and when he knelt on the carpet, she placed a warm palm on his shoulder. “Your Master won’t be back for some time,” she said. “You may lie down instead of kneeling, if you like.” He bowed to her in thanks and she left.

He curled up on his side, luxuriating in the soft surface beneath him and the fan-cooled air around him. For a time, he gazed at the tapestry, and then he watched the shadows track across the floor. He must have fallen asleep, because he was startled awake by the sound of bootsteps, and he quickly scrambled to his knees and into a deep bow.

Master didn’t head to the bathroom this time. Instead, he walked straight to Spike. “They got you in time,” he said. When Spike didn’t move, Master said, “Look at me, Spike.”

Spike rose up to a kneel. Master had sweat stains under his arms and down the front of his shirt, and his face was smudged with dirt. His hair was dusty and held back by a leather cord. But he was smiling broadly.

“Spike, you understand that the slaves are on their way to the mines today?”

Spike nodded.

“Do you know what it’s like in the mines?”

Spike shuddered and nodded again.

“I have a deal to offer you, then.” Spike’s ears pricked up. “As long as you can keep…entertaining me so well, I won’t send you away. You can stay here, in my room. Hell, you won’t even have to work. You can just laze around all day, and then tell me stories about Earth at night. And use that pretty mouth in other good ways, too, of course.”

Spike wasn’t sure he was breathing. Did Master truly mean this? Or was it some sort of trick meant to amuse the man?

“You don’t seem very enthusiastic, Spike. Would you rather go to the mines?”

Spike shook his head so hard he was afraid it might fall off.

“Then why don’t you thank me for the opportunity?”

Spike bowed, deeply, pressing his forehead reverently to the floor.

“With words, Spike. I want to hear your words.”

Spike knelt up again and pointed at his throat, then shook his head slightly.

“Oh! Did they turn off your voice again?”

Nod.

“Shit. Okay. Look. Take off that stupid shift. You won’t need it any more. And I’m gonna…. Hey. Why don’t you come with and help clean me up? You might as well earn your keep.”

Spike pulled off the gown and followed Master, who stopped first at his desk to pull out the controller. “Here,” he said, depressing the button, and Spike was relieved when he felt the click in his throat.

“Thank you, Master,” he said quietly.

In the bathroom, Master tugged off his boots, and then quickly stripped, leaving his clothes in a pile in one corner. He truly was magnificent, all corded muscle and tanned skin. He flashed a grin at Spike, then walked over and turned on the shower. When the water was warm, he stepped underneath it. “Come here,” he said. “Soap my back.”

The shower was plenty big enough for two, and Spike swallowed a small moan when the warm water hit his skin. On the rare occasions when he’d been bathed, the water was always icy cold. This felt wonderful. He picked up the slippery bar of soap and smoothed it over Master’s broad, smooth shoulders.

“My ass and my legs, too, Spike,” Master said. Master’s arse was as muscular as the rest of him, and his thighs were enormous. Spike wondered what he did to keep himself so fit. It was very rare for a Master to be in this kind of shape. Master’s legs were covered in thick black hair that tickled Spikes palms as he cleaned them. When he was crouched on the floor, scrubbing Master’s feet, the man turned around. His cock was hard, and Spike looked up at it questioningly, but Master shook his head. “Later. Get me clean first.” So Spike continued soaping, from the toes up this time. Master rubbed Spike’s shoulder lightly when Spike got to Master’s groin, and then gestured for him to move on to his chest.

Next, Master grabbed a glass bottle and handed it to Spike. “Shampoo,” he said. “Lather me up.” Spike did, massaging the sweet-smelling suds into Master’s scalp. Master made an approving little noise. “That’s almost as good as sex.”

After he rinsed, Master turned off the water and reached for a towel. He rubbed it roughly over himself and then tossed it on top of his dirty clothes. A set of clean clothes was folded neatly by the sink, white trousers and black shirt, and Master pulled them on. “Dry yourself off, Spike,” he said. Spike did, using his towel from earlier. He surreptitiously sniffed at his own hands as he did, noting with delight that the scent of darkberry was finally gone.

Back in the main room, they settled into their usual spots, Master cradling a glass of Scotch as usual. His pad of paper was balanced on his knee. “I looked up a lot of the stuff you talked about last time,” he said. “About Budapest. It was a pretty place. I want you to tell me about someplace else today, though.”

“Yes, Master.”

 

***   
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004z3cf/)   
 

 

I never hated Xander Harris.

I never thought much about him at all, really. Occasionally, he was a nuisance. Sometimes he was amusing. His mouth was always moving faster than his brain, and even though he was the only one of his friends who lacked any special skills, and even though he wore his lack of self-esteem like one of his ugly shirts, he’d rush right into a fight.

Back in the late 1990’s, the government wankers were first experimenting with chips to control demons, and I was one of their first guinea pigs. I was still free, but I couldn’t hunt to feed myself, and I ended up sometimes working with the Slayer and her lot, in a town near LA called Sunnydale. For a time, they kept me trussed up in Xander’s horrible basement flat—it was gloomier than my crypt. I could have got away easily enough, but it seemed to make sense to play along for a while. So I had several weeks to watch Xander, and he was more interesting than I’d thought.

But then I got distracted with other business. Eventually, I went to Africa to fetch something, and when I returned to Sunnydale, I was a bit…unstable. And there was some serious nastiness afoot then as well. I stayed with Xander again, this time in a much nicer flat. And the boy had grown up by then. Found a job he was good at. Suddenly, he was a good deal more interesting, and I seriously considered making him mine. I could have done it. He was trying to hide his attraction, even from himself, but I knew it was there. But, as I said, I had some issues of my own to deal with, and then there was an impending apocalypse, and nothing happened between us. I rescued him once, though. He lost an eye in a battle, but I got there in time to save the other.

Then we were all very busy. And I died. Again. This time permanently, I expected. But death didn’t stick with me that time either, and I was resurrected and…a lot of things happened.

Over ten years after I’d last seen Xander Harris, I ran into him again. I’d been in LA for several years with Angel—that’s Angelus, but with a soul, yeah? But that hadn’t worked out and I’d left and moved to Seattle.

I needed some way to earn some dosh, though, for blood and rent and fags. The chip was gone by then—it’d be several decades before I got another—but eating people was still out of the question. So I contacted some old acquaintances in England who were in the demon fighting business, and offered to do their work for them in the Pacific Northwest. I didn’t really fancy working for those pillocks, but they had money, and I did fancy some good demon brawls. We reached an agreement, and things went smoothly for a time. I was lonely, but refused to admit it to myself. Not like I couldn’t get a leg over when I felt like it. There was always someone willing. But…I needed more than an occasional warm body to shag.

My contact in Bath rang me up one night to tell me there’d been reports of Floga demons down near the docks. They’re mostly aquatic, and they pretty much keep to themselves, eating fish and such. But apparently some of this lot had got a taste for human. They were popping up out of the water, grabbing tourists in their jaws, and carrying them back down with them. Police only found bits of bone and clothing.

My flat was close by, so I decided just to walk down the hill. It was raining that night. Was always bloody raining in Seattle, this thick, misty sort of drizzle that could continue for weeks on end, until I nearly believed that the stars were myths. I was thoroughly wet by the time I reached the pier, but I expected I’d end up wet anyhow, dealing with Flogas, so what did it matter?

It was dark and there was nobody else about. I didn’t really have a scheme. Just thought I’d use myself as bait—hang about the water and see if anything wanted a nibble. I expected they’d be surprised that vampire was the catch of the day. There was a market there, a big, touristy sort of place, but it was still closed up tight. The humans would be arriving in another hour or two with the morning’s fresh produce and fish. I walked behind it, down to the waterfront, and I saw someone standing and facing the water. His back was to me and his shoulders were hunched. He looked like he might be considering jumping on in, clothing and all. Which wouldn’t be a good thing, even if the Floga weren’t hungry.

I sped down to him as fast as I could run, which was fast. I could see him tensing, getting ready to leap, so I tackled him, sending us flying to the ground and knocking the wind out of both of us.

As soon as I could move, I rolled off him. He rolled over as well, and looked at me. As I registered who he was, he said, “Nice to see you, Spike.”

I got to my feet. I was angry. “Harris! What the bloody hell are you doing?”

He smiled at me and sat up, then adjusted his eyepatch. “Looking for Floga. Almost had one, too, before you whacked into me.”

“Almost had one? It almost had you, you mean, berk. Floga weigh half a ton and have mouthfuls of sharp teeth. What did you expect you were going to do with it?”

He grinned even bigger and pulled a long, spear-like thing out of his coat. “Floga toothpick,” he said.

I held a hand out to him and helped him up. “Why were you hunting for demons, Harris? The Council pays me to do that, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. But I was kinda in the neighborhood anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because—Spike. I’m cold and wet and muddy. Think we could go have this conversation indoors somewhere?”

“Where are you staying?”

“My car’s about three blocks from here. I never rent a hotel room until after I’m done with the bad guys, ‘cause what’s the point of paying for a room if I’m just gonna end up eaten anyway?”

I looked at him steadily for a moment. His hair was long and dripping into his face. “All right,” I said.

He shoved the spear back in his coat and took us to his car, which was a beat-up SUV, full of food wrappers and receipts and unwashed clothing. “Looks like a rubbish heap,” I muttered.

“Hey, that’s my home you’re talking about,” he replied, pulling away from the curb.

“Home?”

“Pretty much. I travel a lot. Speaking of, where to?”

I directed him to my building. When we arrived he rooted about in the back seat for a moment until he brought out a small duffle bag. “Dry clothes. You don’t mind if I change at your place, do you?”

I sighed. “You can sleep here, Harris. I expect I owe you a room for at least a night.”

“And maybe you’ll even have someplace comfier for me to sleep than a chair or a closet,” he replied, with what I could have almost sworn was a small leer.

My flat was in the basement, as they usually were. Made it easy to block out the sun, on those few occasions when it did peek through the clouds. It wasn’t posh, but I liked it. There was big room with a kitchen area and a living area, and I’d found some comfortable furniture and nice rugs for it. I had a shelf full of books and a big telly. My bedroom was through one door, and the bathroom through the other. It wasn’t Angel’s big hotel, but it certainly was an improvement over the crypts and empty factories I used to stay in.

Xander stood just inside the door, dripping. “Uh, maybe I could shower and change, before I get your place dirty.”

I pointed. “Suit yourself. Shower’s in there.”

The water started up a moment later. Meantime, I took off my boots and duster, and I put the flame on under the kettle. I might have been dead over a century, but I still liked a nice cuppa now and then, especially when I was wet and chilled. While the water heated, I went into my bedroom, pulled off my wet clothes, and put some dry ones on. I shuffled back into the kitchen barefooted.

I was just pouring myself some tea when Xander came out of the bathroom. “Earl Grey?” I asked.

“Uh, tea isn’t—“

“I can add some vodka.”

“Sold.”

He looked around the place while I got his ready as well. “Wow. You’re really a domestic vamp these days, Spike.”

“Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I have to unlive like a pig, Harris.”

“No, I mean the books, the tea, the…the Ikea furniture.” He shrugged. “It’s nice.”

I was prepared to be defensive, but then I remembered he was living in a car, and I realized he wasn’t taking the piss. I brought him his cup, and we sat next to each other on the sofa. We didn’t talk for a bit. Sizing each other up, I expect. It was the first chance I’d had to have a good look at him. He had some gray in his hair and some wrinkles at the corner of his eye, but overall, he was aging well. Dressing better as well. Now he wore a pair of faded jeans, a white t-shirt that showed off his muscles a bit, and a green cotton overshirt. His hair was still damp and slightly wavy.

“So, uh, you’ve been in Seattle a while, yes?”

“Nearly three years.”

“Yeah. Giles mentioned it to me. Why here?”

“Good place for a vampire. Not much sun.”

“True.” He took a careful sip of his tea, wincing a bit when it burned his tongue.

“And you?” I asked.

“I was in Scotland for a while. You know, working with Buffy and all. But then…I didn’t want to be there anymore. So I spent a few years traveling around Europe, mostly, sometimes Africa or Asia. Pretty much wherever Giles sent me. Hunting down creepy-crawlies, collecting whatever obscure thingamajig Willow decided she needed that week. That kind of thing.”

“A Xander of all trades.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Always something to keep me busy. I’ve seen a lot of stuff. But about a year ago I got to missing the States. Did you know it is impossible to find a decent nacho cheeseburger anywhere in Europe? So I came here, and I’ve been pretty much doing the same as I was there.” He took another sip, bigger this time.

“Thought you might have settled down by now. Got married.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “I was. Isi. She was a Slayer.”

I noted the past tense and didn’t ask any more about it, instead half-draining my own mug. The silence dragged on. “What are you doing here, then?” I finally asked.

“I was up in Alaska, actually. Fairbanks. Probably not the best place for you, this time of year—there’s only about three hours between sunset and sunrise. There was a problem with some Thnkalors. Eww. Slime. Why do so many demons have to have slime? Anyway, I didn’t really have another destination in mind yet, so I figured I’d drive back to the lower forty-eight and wait for the next disaster. When I checked in with Giles he mentioned the Floga, so”—he shrugged—“here I am.”

“If you knew I was here, why didn’t you contact me? Rupert has my address and phone number.”

Xander set his empty cup down on the coffee table and looked down at his bare feet. “I didn’t think you’d especially want to see me. It’s not like we’re best friends or anything.” He toyed with a small hole at his knee.

“We could have worked together, Harris.”

“Didn’t want to cramp your style.”

“So you decided to make yourself demon bait instead.”

He looked up at me with a small smile. “Pretty much. It’s the one thing I was always good at, wasn’t it?”

I put my mug down as well and looked at him for a moment. I opened my mouth to say…something. I don’t know what. But then I thought better of it, and I leaned over and kissed him instead.

He tensed up, and I thought I had just made a stupid mistake. But then he grabbed my shoulders and kissed me back. Very thoroughly. I’d never have guessed he was so good at it. By the time we broke apart we were both breathless. He looked at me with his lips swollen and his brown eye wide, and he was delicious.

“Do you know how long I’ve been fantasizing about doing that?” he asked.

I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Anything else you’ve been fantasizing about, pet?”

Within minutes we were both naked in my bed. I was on my knees and he was spread out before me, flushed with desire, hard and wanting. I’d expected him to be shy and uncertain, but of course this wasn’t the whelp I’d known. This was a man in his mid-thirties who’d seen the world—seen the bits most humans never do—and suffered losses and, against all odds, kept on living. I tore the patch off his eye because I didn’t want to miss seeing a single inch of him, not even the imperfect bits.

“Did you ever fantasize about this, too, Spike? With me, I mean. Or am I just…convenient…right now?”

I lay on top of him and whispered in his ear: “You’re never going to be bloody _convenient_, love, and I’ve thought of this since Sunnyhell. Since that time when the First showed up.”

He planted both his big hands—rough hands, carpenter’s hands, even after all these years—on my arse and squeezed. “Good,” he said.

I nibbled on his collarbone. He tasted of my soap, but also salty and warm and good. Like bread fresh from the oven. I worked my way down him slowly. By the time I got to his nipples, he was writhing underneath me, pressing my hips to his, swearing and telling me to stop torturing him. But I’d waited over a decade for this and I didn’t see the point of hurrying now. So I leisurely licked and gnawed my way over his hot skin until I got to his stomach, which had a few extra pounds on it, and that was wonderful. I could have spent more time there, but Xander was actually starting to growl at me, and quite a passable growl it was, too. I finally licked at his cock, stroking my tongue up and down his long shaft, tasting him. He stopped swearing and started moaning instead.

I took his cock into my mouth and played with just the tip for a time. I liked the feel of him in me, and I liked even more the way he responded to every touch with a groan or a quiver. He had a girl once who told me he was a Viking in the sack, and I was starting to get a sense of what she meant.

I would have been happy to go on like that all night, but Xander grabbed my hair and pulled me off him. “If you keep that up, I’m gonna come,” he gasped.

“That was the idea, mate.”

“Not yet. I want…. Fuck me, Spike. Please?”

All the oxygen went out of me in a whoosh, and I nearly came myself right then. I took a moment to get myself under control, and then I said, “Love? You have done this before, yeah?”

He laughed. “Which part? Had sex? Check. With a demon? Check and check. With a man? Check that, too. With a vampire? Not so much.”

“You’ve bottomed?”

“I’ve bottomed, I’ve topped, I’ve in-betweened. And that makes me sound kinda like a slut, and I’m not, but will you please get on with it?”

I answered him by spreading his legs wider and licking at his twitching little hole. Soon enough he was twisting and squirming, fucking himself on my tongue and making an incredible range of noises. He could cuss better than a sailor, my boy could. He had heavy legs and I rubbed at his thighs, feeling the muscles bunching and shaking as he moved against me.

I couldn’t wait any longer—now I was torturing myself as well. I moved upward, and he whimpered and clutched at me. “Slick, pet,” I said, and he let go of me reluctantly. Luckily, the bottle was nearby, tucked inside the drawer of my bedside table. I grabbed it quickly and then returned to that spot between his legs, and I used my fingers to work some inside him. I might have liked to take my time, but he was having none of that, and he hauled me up his body as soon as he was nominally prepared.

He pressed his lips against my ear and whispered, “It’s okay if you bite me, too.”

Christ.

I might have been a bit rough as I rolled him onto his belly, but he didn’t complain. He only scrambled onto his elbows and knees and grinned over his shoulder at me in the sexiest way imaginable, then waggled his arse at me. That was enough. I lined my cock up against him and then pushed inside.

I didn’t want to hurt him. But it was pretty clear that pain was not the main thing he was feeling right then, and he pushed his hips back against me. Jesus, the sight of him—that beautiful arse, that broad, strong back. I could have eaten him up.

I started thrusting into him, fast, hard strokes that made him cry out. He was like a furnace around me, and I’d have gladly burned again to feel this. Oh, but I wanted to penetrate him in one more way, so I tugged on his shoulders until he was kneeling before me, and I wrapped my fist around his wet cock, and then vamped out and bit him, just underneath his jawline.

Xander roared and bucked frantically, and his inner muscles clutched my cock, milking my climax out of me as he spent himself over my hand.

Neither of us was capable of speech for some time after that. But we curled up together in my bed, and I licked at the tiny wounds on his neck, and then we fell asleep.

We woke up in the late afternoon, and shagged in the shower. And as soon as it was dusk we went out and found the Floga. Xander stood at the water’s edge until the demon popped up, and then I stuck that spear of his right through its beady little eye. That was the end of the Floga problems in Seattle.

But Xander stayed another night. Just to make sure. And another. And when some fledges were causing a bit of trouble near the university, he came with me on patrol for a week until we’d wiped them out.

Xander rang Rupert and told him he’d be staying in Seattle. When I spoke with Rupert next, he didn’t sound the least surprised.

We fought together and lived together and slept together for another fifteen years. He built us a pretty little house near the Sound. Xander insisted on coming out with me even as he got older and slower and less resilient to being battered. I argued with him about it for a while, but then a friend of his rang me up. A witch. He’d known her since they were tiny. And she explained to me that being a fighter was what Xander did, what he was. That if I didn’t let him hack away at demons, I might as well just dig him a grave and bury him.

She was right.

He wouldn’t allow me to turn him, either, even though we knew his witch could tack his soul on permanently. “I couldn’t give up the sun, Spike,” he said. And truthfully, I couldn’t imagine him without a tan, without the warmth that radiated from him always, without that strong, solid heartbeat.

The inevitable finally happened. It was an Amntan beast, and it was worrying at my leg when my Xan went at it with an ax. But he ducked too late, and the Amntan’s tail caught him and threw him onto the pavement thirty feet away. I heard his spine crack.

I managed to tear the beast’s throat out and limp to Xan’s side, but there was nothing I could do for him. He was broken, barely managing to force air through his lungs. “Sorry,” he gasped.

“Don’t…don’t. Let me turn you, love.”

“Immortality paralyzed? No. It’s okay. Doesn’t even hurt.”

“Oh, Xan….” I could barely speak through the tears. I gathered him into my lap, cradling him in my arms.

“It’s…good.” His voice was very weak. “I was getting…too old…for you.”

“God, please—“

“Love you. Always…love you.”

I kissed his forehead, kissed it again. Dripped teardrops in his eye.

“Drain…me…please…dear….”

I bit him. I sank my fangs into his throat, still crying. With its last contractions, his heart pumped his blood into my mouth, bathing my tongue in his familiar, beloved flavors, filling me with the last of his life. I thought for a moment of tearing into my own wrist and making him drink, but I’d promised not to, and he’d never forgive me. So I drank, and he sighed, long and soft, and all the tension left his body, and his strong heart finally stopped.

Xander never expected to live long. Every birthday that passed was a shock to him. He never really feared death, only dying alone.

When he left me, a part of me shattered, and it never did mend.

 

***

 

When he finished, Spike kept his gaze trained on his hands, which were knotted in his lap. Tears were tracking down his cheeks. Eight centuries or so should have been enough time to finish mourning, but the pain of loss was still raw. Really, he hadn’t wanted to tell this tale at all, and he wasn’t sure what Master’s reaction would be. But he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the place Xander had held in his existence, even if it had been for such a very short time. And besides, there was some satisfaction in knowing that Xander would be remembered even now. It was an immortality of sorts.

“Are you lying to me, 4517?”

Spike’s head snapped up. Master’s eyes were narrowed and his mouth set in a hard line. “No, Master,” Spike whispered.

“I can still send you to the mines, you know. The crates won’t be picked up for another day or two.”

Spike thought of the slaves, stuffed into the wooden boxes, broiling under the hot suns before being taken away. He scrambled to his knees and pressed his head to the floor in supplication. “Please, Master, no. Please keep me, Master.”

“I want you to tell me things that really happened.”

“Yes, Master.”

“This story you just told me—was any of it true?”

Spike lifted his head and trained his tear-blurred eyes directly on Master’s face. “Every word, Master.” He wouldn’t deny his love for Xander; that would taste too much of betrayal.

Master scowled at him. “A vampire can’t love!”

Spike took a deep breath. Staying here had been a pleasant fantasy while it lasted. “I did, Master. I loved Angelus and Dru and Buffy. And I loved Xander.”

“And you just spent your nights fighting demons out of the goodness of your heart? Did you save puppies and kittens, too?”

Spike bit back hysterical laughter, remembering a tale or two Angel had let slip. “Master, for over a hundred years I killed thousands of people. I stopped when I was chipped. But then….” He bit at his lip, and then decided to bare all. “I got a soul.”

Master’s eyes went wide before narrowing again. “A soul? Vampires don’t have souls!”

“No, they don’t, Master. Angelus ended up with one—he was cursed by Gypsies. I…I fought for mine. It’s why I went to Africa, Master.”

“Why would a vampire want a soul?”

“I was in love, Master, with a human.” He snorted softly. “A Slayer, actually. Buffy. And I wanted…I wanted to be worthy of her. Wanted her to love me back, Master.”

Master tapped his finger on his knee, considering this. “Did she?”

Spike shook his head. “No, Master. Not really.”

“Come here, Spike.”

Spike noticed the change back to using his name, and a small bit of hope rekindled in him. He shuffled closer until he was kneeling between Master’s legs. Master captured Spike’s face in his huge hands and stared intently into it.

“Gods,” he said softly. “You have a soul.”

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004y96k/)  
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[Chapter Six](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/63213.html)


	6. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 6/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 6/17   
**Chapter Title: **Turning Point  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

 

Today's lovely banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/) , and the perfect bonus art at the end by [](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/profile)[**zoesmith**](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/) . Hope you enjoy!

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000260yg/)  
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****

 

Chapter Six

**Turning Point**

 

 

Master didn’t use him that night. Instead, he left Spike sitting on the rug while Master sat for hours at his desk, poking at his tablet, muttering to himself and taking notes. Finally, he yawned and stood and stretched. He wandered into the bathroom, where Spike heard the toilet flush and water run. And then he emerged, nude, and crawled into bed. “Sleep there,” he mumbled, before turning off the light. Within minutes, he was snoring softly.

Spike sat on the rug, stunned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been permitted to spend the night unparalyzed. The fact that he was on a soft surface to boot, and was clean and comfortable, made his head swim. He hadn’t been fed at all that day, but his hunger was a small discomfort compared to the enormous luxuries he’d been granted. He arched his muscles slowly, like a cat, and then lay down on his back and watched the fans whirl slowly above him in the darkness.

 

Master paid him little mind in the morning. He threw on some clothes—tight jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt, not the loose things Spike had seen him in—and his boots. Just before he walked out the door, he looked at where Spike was sitting. “Stay here,” he commanded, and then left.

Spike wasn’t sure what “here” meant. That exact spot on the rug? At least it wasn’t a packing crate, Spike thought, and he simply curled up on his side and waited.

And hour or so later, light footsteps and a clattering noise sounded outside the door, and Spike tucked into a bow. It was the woman who entered, and she said to him, “You don’t have to do that for me.” She had a small wheeled cart with her.

He kneeled up then, and saw she was holding two feed packets. “I bet he didn’t feed you, did he?”

“No, mistress.”

She _tssk_ed. “Well, go ahead and eat these, and then we can discuss the routine.” While he drank, he watched her. She moved efficiently about, dusting and sweeping. She picked up his shift where he’d dropped it the evening before and shoved it into a big canvas bag. Then she was in the bathroom for a few minutes, and when she came out she was carrying Master’s dirty clothes and towels. She dropped these in the bag as well. Finally she made up the bed, fluffing the pillows and smoothing the white linens. “His rooms are so much easier,” she muttered to herself. She grabbed the bottle of Scotch from the table where Master had left it and returned it to the desk. She set his used glass on her cart and replaced it with a fresh one.

Finally, she approached Spike again. “I’ll take those,” she said, holding her hand out for the empty packages. He gave them to her and she placed them on her cart. Then she walked back to him and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment with her hands on her hips.

“Is this where he told you to sleep?”

“Yes, mistress.”

She didn’t look very pleased about that, and she sighed heavily. “All right. You may call me Miss Dovett. Mister Tane said you’re called Spike?”

So that was Master’s name. “Yes, Miss Dovett.”

“Follow me, Spike,” she said.

She led him into the bathroom. “After Mr. Tane leaves in the morning, come in here and clean yourself. I take it you know how to work the shower and bath?”

He stared at her, wide-eyed. Was he truly permitted to bathe himself in here? But he nodded an answer to her question.

“Good. Then you can use either. Just clean up after any mess you make. Use plenty of soap, and the shampoo is over there.” She pointed. “The towels are over here in this cupboard, and you may leave your used one on the floor, out of the way. Your hair…hmm. I’ll bring a comb next time. Mister Tane may want it cut, I don’t know. I’ve put two bottles of oil in the cupboard also. The stuff in the large bottle goes on your skin, and the stuff in the small bottle goes inside you, to prepare you for your master’s use. You’re to use them after your bath. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Miss Dovett.” He didn’t particularly fancy being treated like a slow child, but it was much better than what he was used to.

“Very good. Once you’ve cleaned yourself, you may move around the chamber. The view from the windows is very nice. Just don’t touch Mr. Tane’s things.”

They walked back into the main room, and she cradled her chin in one small palm as if she were trying to think of more instructions for him. “I think that’s all for now,” she finally said. “Just behave yourself and don’t make noise. I’ll make sure you get fed. Questions?”

“No, thank you, Miss.”

She took her cart and left, shutting the door behind her.

Spike felt…bemused. He was still confined and controlled and enslaved, but still, he’d never expected to be given this much freedom. He spent some time wandering slowly around the room, inspecting everything without touching. And then he had a sudden thought. A bath. Jesus Christ, he could take a bath.

He nearly ran into the bathroom, where he filled the big bath with warm water. He grabbed the shampoo from the shower stall, then he climbed in and sank to his chin. It felt like heaven. A few centuries ago he’d been on a watery planet, and he and the other slaves had spent their days in a fetid swamp, harvesting plants that grew underwater and were used for some kind of medicine. Snake-like animals lived in the water and bit at his legs and his arse and his tender bits when they were disturbed. The venom had no effect on him, but the sharp teeth still bloody hurt. And there were mosquito-like bugs that, ironically, seemed to especially enjoy supping on vampire blood, and everything reeked and the mud constantly sucked at his feet. That was the last time he’d been submerged in water. This was infinitely more pleasant.

The soap made thick, creamy suds that smelled faintly of almonds, and he enjoyed scrubbing himself with it. His skin was already less tender, he noticed. The perpetual sunburn might be gone in a day or two. In the meantime, the soak was soothing. He eventually cleaned his hair as well and spent a long time just sitting there, trying to work the tangles out with his fingers, feeling as good as he could remember feeling.

Only when the water had completely cooled did he emerge from the bath and dry himself with one of Master’s big, fluffy towels. He took the big bottle of oil out and smoothed it over his skin. It was much nicer than the stuff the overseers and Traflos had used on him. This oil, like the soap, smelled of almonds and it felt lovely on his skin. He worked it in everywhere. When he got to his cock, he paused, then decided that nobody had actually forbidden him from touching himself, and he stroked the oil on his shaft as well, very quickly becoming erect.

The oil in the small bottle was unscented and thicker, almost gooey, really. He dripped a little on two fingers, planted his left foot on the edge of the bath, and then carefully worked the fingers inside himself. A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine, and he abandoned all plans to be quick and businesslike about this. Besides, he likely had hours yet before Master returned, and who knew how long it would be before he had the opportunity again to pleasure himself, purely for his own enjoyment and not someone else’s.

He slid his fingers around, crooking the middle finger so it brushed against his prostate. He grasped his cock with his other hand and spent several minutes rocking his hips. His eyes were closed as he lost himself in the blissful friction. He didn’t see darkness, though. Instead, he envisioned Xander, his Xan, his face contorted in enjoyment, his knuckles white as he gripped their headboard. Xander had had to keep making them new headboards, as the two of them constantly broke them while they made love. Even now, Spike could hear the wood cracking in Xander’s hands and the bedsprings squeaking as Spike rode his lover hard, raising himself up and then impaling himself fully, biting his own lip so hard it bled.

When Xander grew older, and a bit self-conscious about the condition of his body compared to Spike’s perpetually young one, they would often shag in this position. It was Spike’s way of letting Xan know that Spike found him beautiful, no matter what. He and Xander could go at it for hours. Even as he aged, Xan had stamina and recovery time almost befitting a vampire. Spike used to joke with him that it was Xander’s superpower.

In Master’s bathroom, with his fingers in and on himself, and memories of Xander fresh in his mind, it took Spike only minutes to come. He managed to stifle any noises when his climax rushed through him, and then he collapsed to the edge of the cool marble bath and sat there for some time, waiting for his breathing to even out.

 

He spent most of the day looking out the window. He could sit on the polished wood floor and lift up the bottom slats of the shutters. The house was at the top of a low rise, and the view was down a sweeping lawn, across some gardens, to the pond. There was a constant parade of activity. Slaves were down on their knees, pulling weeds and trimming shrubs. Apparently only the field workers were to be sent to the mines. Servants hurried back and forth carrying food and drinks and tools and big bags of laundry. And the Masters and Mistresses wandered around with tall, cool glasses in their hands, watching their children tumble in the grass and chase each other through the trees.

Far off in the distance were smudges that he knew were the mountains. He wasn’t certain, because he’d been transported in the shipping crates, but he believed that’s where the mines were. And on the other side was the sea.

This planet was his home now. Had been for well over a century, he thought. He’d been on over a dozen planets before this one, but he’d known when he was brought here that it would be the end of the road for him. It was at the very edge of inhabited space, several years’ journey from anywhere. Humans likely never would have populated this hunk of rock at all, if it hadn’t turned out to be a rich source of venditite. A few times a year, a starship would land in Wilsonville, the planet’s only city, with a cargo of metals—which were nearly nonexistent here—and slaves and other goods, and then leave with a few boxes of precious venditite. Slaves only arrived here on the ships; they never left.

The suns had nearly set when Spike saw Master riding towards the stables. Spike hurried to his designated spot on the rug, but it was fully dark by the time Master arrived at his room. He must have stopped to eat, because he smelled of roasted meats and vegetables when he entered, along with his usual horse and sweat and dust scents. He dropped a feed packet on the floor in front of Spike, slightly startling the vampire. “Here. Dovett has reminded me that you need to eat, too.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Master grunted in reply and went to shower while Spike ate. When he was finished, he didn’t know what to do with the empty container, so he just held it and waited.

Master was wearing black trousers again tonight and no shirt at all. He looked tired again. Not for the first time, Spike wondered what he did all day. He did his usual routine of collecting drinks things and paper and pen, and then settling in his chair. “Were you comfortable today, Spike?”

“Yes, Master, thank you.”

“Better than the fields?”

“Very much better, Master.”

“Certainly better than the mines. Do you have another story for me tonight, then?”

Spike nodded vigorously. “Yes, Master. Loads of stories. What do you want to hear about?”

Master tapped the pen against his teeth a few times. “How about…tell me about when you first became a vampire. You didn’t have a soul then, right?”

“No, Master. Not for nearly 120 years after.”

“Okay. How’d you end up a vampire?”

 

***

 

I always had the idea that I was meant to be someone. A great poet perhaps, like Byron or Wordsworth. I was actually a crap poet. Nobody ever liked my poetry but my mum and later Angel, but I stumbled along anyway, trying desperately to please.

I wasn’t much good at anything else, either, and everyone knew it. They didn’t even bother to go behind my back before they laughed at me.

The night I died, I’d been spurned by a bird who said I was beneath her. I stormed out into the London streets and into the arms of a dark beauty. She said she saw more in me. Fool that I was, I believed her. She drained me there. That was Drusilla.

It’s a strange thing to awake as a vampire the first time. Dru had buried me, coffinless, in the garden of the house they were staying at—I expect with some help from Angelus, but none from Darla—and I came to consciousness with dirt in my face. My first feelings were claustrophobia and panic. I thought I’d been buried alive. I clawed my way out, trying to scream the whole time.

When I pulled myself out of my grave, I stood there, panting and disoriented. Then there were hands clapping, and I looked up to see Dru sitting in a chair, a big, heavy floral monstrosity she must have dragged from inside. Suddenly my vision went wonky and my face felt funny and I was _hungry_. That word doesn’t begin to do justice to the raging need in my gut. All conscious thought left my head and I leapt for this weak-looking woman, meaning to rip into her neck. But of course Dru caught me without any trouble, and she giggled and said, “Naughty kitten! No dessert ‘til you’ve had your supper.”

She dragged me a few feet away and there was a girl. She was perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Somebody’s maid, most likely. Her hair and clothes were mussed and her face was tear-stained. She was trussed up and gagged, and staring up at me with absolute horror. I have to tell you, it felt bloody wonderful to be inspiring that kind of emotion, instead of contempt. I felt powerful.

“See, mummy’s brought you a little mouse to play with,” Dru said, and stroked my face. I could hear the girl’s heart battering away inside her chest and smell her terror. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever smelled. Dru let go of me and I attacked that girl. My fangs sinking into soft skin for the first time, the desperate struggles of the body beneath mine, the lovely, lovely taste of hot, salty blood pouring into my mouth…I’d never experienced anything like so magnificent, not even in my dreams.

Only when the girl was completely drained did I come to my senses. She was cold, her eyes staring sightlessly ahead. I stumbled back away from the corpse. Good Lord, what had I become?

I think I would have run away. But Dru came to me and clutched my arms in her strong hands and held me tight. “Poor, lost kitten,” she purred. “We have so many games to play yet.” With one hand, she traced down my chest and to my cock, which she grasped firmly. I realized then that I was naked and aroused.

This was Victorian England. Nobody had seen me unclothed since I was a young child, and certainly nobody had touched me sexually. I’d barely touched myself. And here I was, out of doors, filthy and bare and hard and being groped by a lady. Who, of course, was no lady at all. It was as astonishing to me as becoming a vampire. But there was also a part of me that was thrilled. I felt…liberated.

While I tried to process this, Dru tugged me along by my cock. “Come, kitten. Mustn’t keep Daddy and grandmummy waiting. Then they should have to punish you. And that wouldn’t be fair at all, would it? It’s my turn to be punished.”

I couldn’t even resist as she towed me into a house, through a kitchen, and to a parlor. A man and a woman were there on a settee, engaged in shockingly intimate behavior. The man turned and looked at me with a wide grin, and I realized then that they were the same sort of creatures as what I’d become. Vampires. I was frightened and humiliated to be dragged in front of them like this, and I tried to pull away, but Dru had me in an iron grip.

“You have your new playmate already, precious?” said the male in a thick brogue.

“Yes, Angelus,” she said. “Isn’t he a pretty one?”

“See here—“ I began, but Dru gave a hard squeeze that shut me up quickly.

“Would you like to come play, too, Daddy?” Dru said, her eyes glittering. “He’s fresh as new cream, you know, and all sparkly beneath his skin, like firecrackers.”

Angelus gave me a long, slow look. “Perhaps I’ll come watch.”

The woman he’d been manhandling smacked him on the head. “Hey! We were in the middle of something, remember?” Her accent was American.

Angelus kissed her cheek. “There’s always time for that, my darling Darla. But how often do we see a new toy broken in?”

She sighed and pushed him away. “Fine. But she’s only going to break this one, too, you know.”

I didn’t like any of this one bit and I tried again to protest. “Wait! I—“ But Dru kept on pulling me until we were in a bedroom. There was a big canopy bed in there, and dolls scattered around the floor, and the bedding was bloodstained. She brought me over to the bed and pushed me onto it. I scrambled off, wondering if I should try to rush past Angelus and Darla to get to through the door, or simply dash headfirst through the window. But Dru caught me again, this time by my hair.

“Ow!” I shouted, but she only clicked her tongue at me.

“You are a very naughty kitten. I shall have to teach you a lesson first, shan’t I?”

As I struggled, Angelus stepped out of the room. He returned a moment later, smiling, with ropes in his hands. Before I could get away, Dru threw me face-down on the mattress, and sat on top of me while Angelus tied my wrists and ankles to the bedposts. I was stronger than I had ever been, but I was still just newly born as a vampire, and nowhere near a match even for Dru. The ropes were so tight they made me bleed.

When I was completely immobilized, Dru scooted off my back and onto my legs. And then she started smacking my arse with a hairbrush. It hurt and I was mortified to be treated this way, especially when I heard the three of them laughing. “Stop this at once!” I yelled, but she only hit harder and laughed more delightedly. The worst of it, though, was that my dick was still as hard as ever, and I was having to struggle not to rub myself off against the duvet.

After what seemed forever, she dropped the brush beside me and ran her hand over my bruised buttocks. The coolness of it was wonderful, even if I was still shamed to be handled in such a way. “Ooh, such pretty colors!” she cooed. “Like a garden full of flowers.” Then I felt more hands on me, and I realized they were _all_ stroking me, even Angelus, and I hid my face in the pillow. I may even have sobbed.

The hands moved to my bonds and untied me. I thrashed about, still trying to escape, but I was simply flipped onto my back and retied. This was even worse, because I couldn’t hide my face any more, and all three of them were looking down at the proof of my excitement. My arse was sore, too, where it lay against the bed. I pressed my eyes tightly closed, but that didn’t stop me from feeling Dru’s palm as it slid up and down my shaft, or from letting out a whimper of distress and need.

“Hmm. Maybe this one wasn’t such a mistake after all,” Darla said thoughtfully. “He may be a drooling idiot, but he is appealing. And so responsive,” she added, as Dru stroked a bit faster and my cock pulsed out a bead of precome.

“Please….” I moaned, and even I wasn’t sure what I was begging for, but it didn’t matter anyway. Dru put a finger across my lips.

“Sshh! You’ll wake the moonbeams.” Now on top of everything else I was deeply confused. I didn’t realize yet that she was completely mad.

She toyed with me a moment more. Then she lifted her skirts and repositioned herself, and dropped down over my cock.

I’ve told you I was a virgin then. I’m not sure what I’d expected my first sexual experience to be like—a blushing bride on the night of our wedding, perhaps. I certainly hadn’t thought I’d be surrounded by cold, wet, tightness, ridden by a beautiful monster while two others looked on and leered.

And then Darla came closer and bent over the bed and started pinching and rolling my nipples between her fingers. “Christ!” I choked out. I was writhing helplessly, completely lost.

“He has nothing to do with this, lad,” Angelus smirked. He walked behind Darla and shifted some clothing around. She grinned wickedly down at me as he began snapping his hips against her backside. He was watching me the whole time. Then Dru used a sharp fingernail to gouge a red line in the center of my chest, and Darla leaned a bit farther and licked at it.

That was it. I howled and came hard enough to see those sparkles Dru had been on about.

Dru left me tied up all night. Angelus and Darla wandered off to hunt, I think, and Dru disappeared as well. She returned periodically to play with me, teasing me until I pleaded with her, or cutting little shapes into my skin that healed within minutes. I finally fell asleep, completely knackered.

When I woke up the next evening Dru was smiling down at me fondly. “Untie me, love. Please.”

She pursed her lips like she was thinking about it. “Will you be a good kitten if I do?”

“Very good.”

She ghosted a finger across my ribs. Not only was I starving again, but I was starting to suss out just how barmy she was, and I didn’t fancy being done away with before I’d truly explored the possibilities of what I was. “Please?”

“All right. But I shall be very cross with you if you don’t behave. Perhaps then I’ll have to find a new kitten.”

“I’ll be good! I promise.”

She undid the ropes then. There was a bath in the next room and she led me there and watched while I washed the blood and grave dirt off of myself. I was still a bit embarrassed to be undressed in front of her. After some persuasion, she showed me where my clothing was and I put it on. There was no sign of the other vampires, I was relieved to discover.

She tucked her arm into mine and we walked out onto the street. It was still early and there were quite a few people about. I suddenly felt very proud to be with this gorgeous creature, especially when some of the men we passed looked at me with envy. But she had chosen me, after all, and it was I that had shagged her all the previous night, and by the time we had gone only a few blocks I was strutting quite confidently. It was a far cry from the hunched, distracted scuttle I’d formerly used.

We were in Knightsbridge, I saw now. We strolled down to Brompton Road, past Harrod’s and some of the other shops. Dru admired the dresses in the windows. Then we turned onto a side street, and another, and we entered Hyde Park. People were promenading around the pathways. Young women arm in arm, closely watched over by chaperones and groups of young men. Older couples, not speaking, just marching in a stately manner. Dru led me off the main paths, which were the only places with any lighting at all, and into the darkness near the Serpentine. I was delighted to discover that I could see as well here as I used to be able in daylight. Better, because my spectacles had gone missing, and yet my vision was crystal clear.

In the dark places of the park, the goings-on were less savory than the posh parades we’d just passed. Couples groped at each other furtively. Whores smiled lasciviously. Men of low repute eyed us with predatory intent. I was afraid for a moment, and then I chided myself. I was a vampire now—they should fear me!

Dru put her finger to her lips and drew me forward by the hand, and then pointed. A group of four men and one woman sat in a circle, passing a bottle among themselves and talking quietly. They were all dressed very shabbily. Dru turned to me with shining eyes, and then her face shimmered into its demon visage. I hadn’t fully seen it before, and I decided she was beautiful even like that. I changed my face as well, feeling my fangs—oh, my fangs—feeling my fangs drop and my brow grow heavy.

We crept a bit further, and then, with a glance at each other, we pounced.

It was brilliant. Those people hardly knew what was what before we were on them, and as soon as one would try to run away, Dru or I would grab him and throw him to the ground, stunning him long enough to grab the next. I grew frenzied, and soon five bloodied bodies littered the grass. Dru handed me the bottle they’d been drinking from and I downed it in one go. And then she pounced on me, like a cat with her prey, and she tore at my clothing until we were rutting on the ground like animals.

After, we lay on the grass on our backs, gazing up at the night sky. Dru giggled.

“What is it, love?”

“The stars say someday you’ll visit them, kitten.”

I was in a mellow mood right then, wanting to humor her. “Yeah? And what will I do there?”

She cocked her head as if she were listening. “Ooh. You’ll be a lovely machine. You won’t fancy that much.”

I ran fingers through her long, dark hair. “Doesn’t sound like much fun, pet.”

“But my kitten will find his way home in the end. Daddy will help.”

I shivered slightly. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I was terrified of Angelus.

I wasn’t really hungry anymore, but later that night we attacked a pair of drunks in Covent Garden. We wiped most of the blood off of ourselves, then, and found a rowdy pub, and I purposely picked a fight with two big blokes. As Dru looked on and clapped, I beat one’s face into a mushy pulp, and busted all ten of the other’s fingers.

When we returned to the house I was drunk on liquor and blood and sex and violence. I’d never felt better in my life. Angelus and Darla were there, and Angelus glowered at us like we were a pair of disobedient children. When Dru told him what we’d been up to, Angelus threatened to stake me, but then Darla pulled him away. “Leave him, Liam. Look, she’s happy for now.” Angelus scowled some more and then stomped away.

The next few nights were more of the same, and I didn’t think of anything except feeding and fighting and fucking. Angelus and Darla were rather a drag, though, and I didn’t fancy the way he looked at my Dru. “Come away with me,” I said to her. “We can travel the world, just us. Make a name for ourselves.” She said she’d consider it, but it was always difficult to tell what was going on in her head.

And then I was ripping the throat out of a rich woman in Kensington when I had a sudden thought. Mother. I’d left her all alone, ill, wondering what had happened to her only son. But I could cure her now, couldn’t I?

That…didn’t work out as well as I’d hoped.

Dru wouldn’t leave Angelus. Not willingly. She loved me, I believe, in her own way, but she was always her Daddy’s girl. When we lost him because he gained a soul, she was devastated. By then, so was I. Darla ended up back with her sire, an ugly bastard older than sin.

And I had over a century of Dru, all to myself most of the time. I cared for her. Kept her from forgetting to stay out of the sun. Found her a cure when the mobs in Prague got her. And she…she made me feel strong and brave and clever and sexy. Made me feel like I was someone.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00049qrc/)  
---  
  
 [Chapter Seven](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/63537.html)


	7. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Scheherazade, Chapter 7/17** _

**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 7/17   
**Chapter Title: **Last Meal   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Check out the two new breathtaking banners today! The top one's by **[](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)**, and the bottom one by **[](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)**.**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000507sr/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Seven**

**Last Meal**

 

“What happened to your fangs, Spike?”

Spike whirled away from the window. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard Master arrive. He glanced at the rug and had to curb the impulse to go there and bow. Master had told him two weeks ago that he didn’t have to do that, but centuries of habit died hard.

“I…I’m sorry, Master?”

Master strode closer. “Show me your vampire face, Spike. I’ve never seen it.”

Spike stared down at his feet. He’d been perfectly obedient for Master, not because he feared punishment, but rather because he wanted to please the man. Sure, the rest of the field slaves were long gone, but certainly Master could still send Spike away if he wished, or simply banish him from his chambers. This last month had brought Spike more comfort and freedom than he’d had in long centuries, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

But his demon face. He’d been forbidden from using it for so long, and then, ever since Kshalnya….

“Spike?”

Spike took a deep breath and willed his face to morph.

“Look up at me.” Spike did, keeping his mouth carefully closed. Master stared intensely at him. “Huh. My whole life with vampires and I never saw this up close. It’s not as ugly as I’d imagined. Just…different.”

Spike tried not to pant. It felt so odd after all this time.

“Open your mouth, Spike.” With a small moan of distress, Spike parted his lips, revealing blank, empty gums. “They’re all gone.”

“Yes, Master,” Spike whispered. He hated the way his voice sounded with no teeth.

“I think you mentioned something about that, once or twice. And the last two nights you were crying about it in your sleep. You kept saying, ‘No, not my fangs, please, just dust me.’”

Spike was stricken. Christ, he was disturbing Master with his nightmares. “I’m…I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean…. I’m sorry. I won’t—“

“You don’t have to apologize. I was just wondering what happened.”

“I belonged to a meathouse on Kshalnya, and—“

“What’s a meathouse?”

“Like a whorehouse, Master, but with slaves. There are loads of them on that planet, one for every taste, yeah?”

“Oh.”

“A customer was using the mouth of one of the other slaves. And then something happened—I don’t know how. Perhaps the chip malfunctioned, or the slave was able to withstand the pain. Anyhow, he vamped out and bit the customer’s dick clean off.”

Spike hadn’t actually seen the incident, but he heard the man’s earsplitting scream, and saw him as he staggered out into the main room, clutching his crotch and spraying blood like a fountain. It had made him smile. Made all the vampires smile, although they knew retribution would quickly follow.

“Ow! Shit! So then?”

“Our Master wanted to make certain that never happened again. So he pulled every fang in the house. Didn’t affect our looks normally—he kept our human teeth. But it’s harder to do damage with those.”

Master looked concerned. “It hurt a lot?”

“Yes, Master. A vampire’s fangs are very sensitive.” But the pain had faded after a day or two. Much worse had been the sense of emasculation, the knowledge that even if he were, by some miracle, someday free again, he could never be a real vampire again.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Master said, and set his hand on Spike’s shoulder. He looked as if he meant it, too. “Do you want to change back?”

“Yes, thank you, Master.” And he was relieved to allow his face to shift back to its more familiar planes.

Master looked out the window at the scene Spike had been watching. A half dozen Masters and an equal number of servants were playing a ballgame on the lawn. Spike didn’t know the rules, but it seemed to be a descendant of football. More Masters and Mistresses and children and servants were watching from the sidelines and, off to the side, a group of slaves was using shovels to dig a large hole. Expanding the pond, perhaps. The weather had cooled, and the people were wearing slightly heavier clothing. The nights had been getting downright chilly. Spike had never been here during the winter, and he wondered what it would look like.

Master turned away from the window. “You haven’t left this room in weeks. You must get bored.”

Spike did, but he couldn’t very well say so. Besides, there were worse fates than boredom. “I’m comfortable, Master. You’ve been very kind.”

“Hmm. I think tomorrow I’ll take you with me. Would you like that?”

Spike blinked at him in surprise. Why would Master do this? But all he said was, “Yes, Master, thank you.”

 

Spike helped Master get dressed in the morning. He didn’t mind buttoning Master’s shirt and lacing his boots. When they were done, Master left for a few minutes and returned with a tray. His breakfast was on it—fried potato-like roots and eggs and toast—and a feed packet for Spike. They ate together in silence, Spike surreptitiously inhaling the scent of the food.

Or perhaps not surreptitiously, because Master suddenly said, “What are you sniffing at?”

“Sorry, Master.”

“Is it my food?”

“Yes, Master.” Spike stared forlornly at his empty package.

“Something wrong with it?”

“No. It...it smells nice, Master.”

“Vampires don’t eat real food.”

Spike didn’t reply. Master rose from his desk, where he’d been eating, and looked down at Spike seated on the rug. “Let’s go,” he said. “It’s getting late. Days are getting shorter.”

Spike had expected to have to follow Master through the house. But instead Master opened one of the big windows and stepped outside, gesturing for Spike to follow. “Don’t have to mess around with a gown this way,” he explained. They walked across the grass, which was soft and cool under Spike’s feet. Few people were about yet, although the group of slaves was working on digging that hole. The overseer, the bony bint who was always so quick with the controller, watched Spike as they passed her.

Spike had never been in the stables before. They were immaculate, with more slaves busily mucking out stalls, while a pair of grooms were combing a chestnut mare. Master chose another, though, a big black horse with a white star on his forehead. The horse was already saddled and bridled, and he whickered as Master patted his nose. Master led the horse and Spike out of the stable.

“Would you rather ride Magnus with me or run alongside, Spike?”

Spike didn’t even have to think before he answered. He’d never much liked horses, and riding naked was no fun. And besides, he’d really fancy the chance to stretch his legs a bit. “Run, please, Master.”

“Okay.” Master climbed into the saddle and set the horse off at a moderate trot. Spike jogged just to the right, enjoying the feel of his feet pounding against the dirt road, of his muscles moving smoothly and powerfully, of the air whistling through his lungs. They went in the direction opposite the darkberry fields, and Spike watched the scenery with interest. The road curved a bit, rose over a small hill, and then twisted through some open, grassy areas before entering a forest. The trees here resembled pines, and the whole woods reminded him of parts of the Black Forest. The trees grew close enough to the road to blot out most of the sun, and Spike could scent small creatures rustling in the brush. It was a bit intoxicating.

They continued for another two or three miles before crossing a narrow wooden bridge over a small stream. There was a clearing on the other side, and Master brought the horse to a halt there. Spike stopped too, panting, his limbs tingling pleasantly from the exercise. He looked around and saw that a structure appeared to be under construction. A foundation had been set and wood boards and various tools were in neat piles beside it.

“Pretty spot, isn’t it?” Master said, dismounting and looking around fondly. “This will be my own place, so I don’t have to spend all my days with that circus in the big house. It’s quiet here. Clean. I’ve done almost all the work myself.”

Master stood with his hands on his hips, gazing proudly at what he’d done so far. Nearby, Magnus nibbled contentedly on some grass.

“So, Spike. You want to sit around on your ass all day, or you want to help?”

Spike had never built anything before, really, and long wooden things made him uneasy. Still, though, he could fetch things for Master and hold things in place, and it was nice to be of use. It was hard work, too, although not as hard as he’d been used to, and he didn’t mind this kind of labor, especially since Master was working as hard as he was.

They took a break at lunchtime. They sat on the grass with their feet in the cold brook. Master had pulled a packet of food from a bag Magnus had carried, and it contained bread and cold meat and cheeses and apple-like fruits. He munched away in silence as the water tickled Spike’s toes and birds sang above them.

They put in several more hours after lunch, until Master was sweaty and they were both covered in dirt. As Master packed things up, he smiled at Spike. “It was good to have some help. Want to do this every day?”

“Yes, please, Master,” Spike replied. It was an improvement over sitting in the room and waiting.

Spike ran alongside Magnus again when they returned, and so he was quite sore and tired by the time they climbed back in the window to Master’s room. They headed straight for the bathroom and Master quickly stripped, then they both stepped into the shower. The warm jets of water felt brilliant. Spike soaped and scrubbed and shampooed Master, and then Master watched while Spike cleansed himself. Before he was quite finished, though, Master positioned Spike face-first against the marble shower wall, spread Spike’s cheeks, and then buggered him, hard and fast. Spike came, too, his spend splattering the marble and then washing away.

After he was dried and dressed, Master said, “I’ll be back in a while with your feed. Go ahead and relax.” So Spike lay back on the carpet, enjoying the good ache in his shoulders and thighs.

As in the morning, Master returned with a tray of food. He handed Spike his feed packet and took the tray to the desk, where he sat and shoveled meat and vegetables into his mouth. He was nearly done when he turned and looked at Spike. “You don’t eat real food, do you?”

Spike wasn’t sure how to answer this. “All I need is blood, Master. Or slave feed.”

“Yeah, I know. But _can_ you eat?”

“It won’t harm me, Master.”

Master scratched thoughtfully at his cheek. “Do you like to eat? I mean, when you were free, did you?”

“Most vampires ate very little. But I fancied some food now and then. Still liked the taste of some things.”

“When’s the last time you ate, Spike?”

“Right before I was…captured, Master.”

“Over seven hundred years ago.”

Spike nodded.

“Gods.”

Master finished his dinner and, as he had every night for the last month, collected his drinks things and his pad of paper, and settled in his chair. Spike waited slightly impatiently. This was the high point of his day. Of his existence.

Master took a long sip of scotch and put down his glass. “All right,” he said. “Tell me about your last meal.”

 

***

 

The last thing I ate was some biscuits. Not very exciting, I’m afraid, but I was feeding off animal blood then, and I liked to crumble biscuits into my cup. Mostly for the texture.

After Xan died, I was alone for about ten years, still in Seattle. And then one day Angel showed up at my door. Wasn’t expecting that. Hadn’t spoken to him in years. We’d fought together for a time, when we both had souls, but then there was a battle that killed all of our friends. We won, I suppose, but barely. We tried to keep working together after that; neither of us had anyplace else to go, really. Nobody else to go to. But it didn’t work. We’d never got along all that well anyhow and now…now we just reminded each other of what we’d lost. So I left, and he kept on by himself in LA.

I was holed up in my little house in the woods—the house Xan built. Every board, every piece of furniture was something he’d touched. It helped, a bit.

I was watching telly one evening when the door rattled. Nobody ever came to visit, especially at night, so I thought it was bound to be trouble. I got up to answer anyhow. There was my grandsire on my doorstep, looking the same as always. Only wet, and not too pleased about that.

We just stared at each other a moment.

“Gonna let me in, Spike? It’s raining.”

I waved him inside and he stood on my doormat, dripping and looking about the room. “Nice place.”

“What do you want, Peaches?”

“I want…. I came to talk to you.”

I hadn’t a clue what he wanted. But I stepped into the kitchen and he followed me. “Blood? Whiskey?” I asked him.

“Yeah.”

I poured and then we sat at the table with our drinks in front of us. It was a nice kitchen. Xan never could cook, but I could, so he’d put in some decent appliances. I liked to prepare meals for him. The cabinets were maple and the countertop was black granite. It was warm. Homey. After Xan died I used it less often. Didn’t seem much point in buying groceries just for me, yeah?

“You heard about…about Buffy?” Angel finally said.

I ducked my head. “Yeah. Rupert rang me.” Buffy was a Slayer. We’d both loved her, years earlier. Neither had her for very long. She’d ended up in Europe, leading an army of Slayers, and she lived far longer than any of them ever had before. Got married, even—to a human, of course—had two children. She’d died of cancer six months earlier.

“Spike, I’m…I’m sorry about Xander.”

I didn’t think he’d ever said he was sorry about anything to me. “Ta,” I murmured back.

“I left LA, you know. I’ve been in New Orleans for a while.”

I nodded. Rupert had told me that, too. Angel swallowed his whiskey in one big gulp, then toyed with his glass. I sipped at my blood, with no idea where this was going.

“I was thinking…. Fuck.” He used one hand to rub at his face. “I could use somebody to…to work with me.”

Oh. “Don’t fancy being your sidekick.”

“Not my sidekick. My, my partner.” He looked up at me, his eyes tortured. “Please.”

I thought about how desperate he must be to come begging at me like that. But then, he’d been alone longer than I had, hadn’t he? I at least had those years with Xan.

I sighed. “I hate New Orleans,” I said.

“We can go wherever we want. I have money. There’s always something to fight, wherever we go, isn’t there?”

There was.

I couldn’t stand the thought of just abandoning Xander’s house, just leaving it to fall apart, unloved. So Angel stayed for a time while I found someone to give it to, someone who deserved it. I couldn’t settle on anyone. Then I thought of Janie. She was a waitress at a café I went to sometimes, when I wanted to get out for a bit, and fancied a cup of tea. She was sweet. She was supporting her husband through college, but he’d died, and now she was a single mum with three kiddies. Worked two jobs and was trying to put herself through school, too. I gave the house to her. I knew Xan would approve, and for a long time after it made me happy to think of her and her family, laughing and comfortable under that roof.

We ended up in New York. It was the first I’d spent any time there since the 1970’s. It was still a good place for vamps, even now that I wasn’t hunting humans any more. Angel bought us an old warehouse in SoHo. It needed some fixing up, but it didn’t have much in the way of windows, and it was plenty big. We hired some contractors—demons, but good at what they did—and they put in a kitchen for us, and a couple of bedrooms, and two bathrooms, and a living area. Another large space was where we stored our weapons, and where we could train as well. The place even had a huge door that rolled up, so we could park our car inside.

The first several months we were there, we didn’t talk much. Rupes would call and tell us of trouble he’d heard of—old boy was in his seventies or eighties, then, but still in the game. Or we’d hear of something ourselves, through connections we made. Sometimes someone would hear about us and come to us for help. So then we’d throw together the appropriate knives or axes or clubs or what have you and go out hunting. Got in some bloody brilliant brawls, we did. Neither of us much cared whether we got dusted, I think.

When we came back home, we’d patch each other up a bit, down some cow or pig, and then go our separate ways. I watched a lot of telly. He brooded. There were still clubs nearby, and bars, and sometimes I’d go to one, just for a change of scenery, really. Or company for a few hours. He’d never come with me, though.

It was spring, and we were going through a dry spell. The weather had been gorgeous and it even put the baddies in a good mood, because there was nothing brewing. No impending apocalypses, no monsters impregnating virgins, no demon possessions. Just couples in love, strolling through the evening streets hand in hand. It was bloody boring.

So one night I decided to go to a club that was close by. It wasn’t as hip as some, but it was kind of elegant, and the band played some nice retro salsa music. Good, spicy food, too. Chinese-Cuban. I dressed up a bit—jeans with no holes and a red button-down over a new black tee—and headed for the door. Angel was in the living area, reading. “Going to Tia Lilia’s,” I said. He grunted at me without looking up. “Fancy joining me?”

He did glance up at me then, “Uh, no,” he said. “I’ll just stay here.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The place was fairly empty. Too nice an evening to be indoors, I expected. I ordered some rum and spicy spareribs, and I sat back to watch a half dozen couples dance.

“Hi.”

I whipped my head around. Angel was standing there. My first thought was that there was some kind of emergency, but he was in tight leather trousers and a black silk shirt. Not really much of a demon-fighting kit. And he looked nervous as well. I couldn’t help but smile, though. He was gorgeous and it was nice to see him outside our home, even if he was likely going to say something unpleasant.

“Hello,” I said.

He gave me a forced-looking grin. “I’m, uh, new in town. Don’t know anyone. Can I join you?”

“What the hell are you on about?”

He rolled his eyes. “I told you. I’m new. I’m…looking for company.”

I think I must have stared at him for ages with my mouth hanging open. Finally, I said, “Are you under some kind of spell? I heard the other day a witch moved in over on Wooster Street. Perhaps she—“

Angel sighed heavily, pulled out the other chair, and collapsed into it. “There’s no spell, Spike.”

“Then what was that rubbish about being new?”

He rubbed his face with both hands, suddenly looking very old. “I’m just…. I’m tired of fighting with you.”

Now I was confused and hurt. “Tired of fighting with me? You’re the one that convinced me to give away Xan’s house and move all the bloody way across the country, and—“

“I’m not tired of fighting _next_ to you. I…I like that part. I’m just sick of squabbling all the time. It’s like we got stuck in a certain pattern two hundred years ago, and now we can’t get out of it, you know? So I thought…maybe if we could sort of start fresh. Pretend we just now met.” He looked like he was about to stand. “Forget it. Stupid idea.”

I grabbed his arm. “Wait. If you didn’t know me—if you really were new in town—would you really come over to me?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re a vamp. I wouldn’t know about the soul and I’d want to dust you.”

I let go of his arm. “Oh.” I turned away.

But he leaned in close to me. “I’m kidding,” he whispered in my ear. “I’d notice you right away, and I’d definitely want to come over and…get to know you better.”

Fuck. I turned back in his direction and stuck out my hand. “Hi. Name’s Spike. Welcome to the Big Apple.”

Angel settled back in his seat and shook my hand. His mouth was crooked in a small smile. “Angel. Nice name, Spike. How’d you get it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, _Angel_?”

The waiter came by just then, and I ordered another rum for me and, when Angel nodded, one for him as well. Angel nodded his head slightly in time to the music.

“So, erm, what brings you to town?”

“Business.”

“Yeah? What sort of business?”

“Um…I kill stuff.”

“Really? What a coincidence! Me too.”

Our drinks arrived and we both slammed them back and asked for another. And then we sat there. Without a past to talk about, what was there to discuss? But the big pouf was truly making an effort, and it seemed a shame not to at least try.

“So, um, you’re not originally from here, I take it?” he finally said.

“No, mate. I was born in London. Rose there, too,” I smirked.

“Yeah? I’m from Galway, myself.”

“Lost the accent, then.”

He shrugged and grinned again. “It’s been a while.”

“You ever miss it?”

He looked surprised, as if the question had never occurred to him. “No. Not usually. Just…once in a while I yearn for it a wee bit.” His brogue had crept back. “Of course, it’s nothing now like it was then.” He sighed. “And you? Do you ever wish you were back in London?”

I shook my head. “No. All my best memories happened someplace else. Seattle. Or….” I dropped my voice. “Budapest.”

He blinked at me for a moment. “I have some good memories of Budapest myself.” And then he stood and drained his rum and held out his hand. “How about a dance?”

I was so shocked I could hardly move. I’ve told you before, he was a horrible dancer, and he hated to lose his dignity in public. But the current song was a slow one, and…and I jumped to my feet and grabbed his palm.

I wish I could describe how good it felt to be held in those strong arms again. Safe. Comfortable. Wanted. Like coming home. We moved together on that floor and for a time, nothing mattered but the two of us.

Only when the music got faster and Angel was having trouble keeping up did we start to pull apart. But then he grabbed me and growled in my ear, “Come home with me, Spike.” I could feel his cock through his leather trousers, and it was as hard and thick as my own.

“I dunno,” I said. “It’s our first date. You might think I’m easy.”

He cupped my arse and squeezed. “I was hoping you would be, tonight.”

I threw some money down on our table and we ran home so quickly we were breathless when we got there. We tore the clothing off each other. The next day we were both a bit upset about that—my clothes had been brand new and Peaches’ kit was expensive. But that night we didn’t care. Our hands and mouths were all over one another, reacquainting themselves with bodies we’d never quite forgotten. His was hard and a bit too angular—he’d been underfeeding lately, I reckoned—but his skin was as soft as always and his muscles as robust.

I slammed him up against a wall hard enough to dent the sheetrock, and our human teeth clinked together as we kissed. He had to spread his legs a bit because he was a few inches taller, but then our pelvises were tight against each other, and although we were both cold-blooded, we were creating heat with lovely friction.

When we parted, I was lightheaded, and I allowed Angel to tug at me. He might have been heading for one bedroom or the other, but we never made it that far. Instead, we stopped in the kitchen. I ended up on my back on the table, and he was pistoning into me like a machine. A really good machine, that hurt me just right, and hit my hotspot with every thrust. We were both making loads of noise—grunting and moaning and swearing. It’s lucky we had no neighbors to complain.

Angel had been holding my hands down at my side as he pounded away, and I could have struggled free, but didn’t want to. But then his face shifted and remolded and he grinned down at me as wickedly as Angelus ever did. I changed to gameface as well. Still rocking his hips, he bent down and offered me his neck.

All it took was that one bite, one taste of him, and I was screaming and coming hard, my fluids covering both of our bellies and chests. He didn’t stop moving, though, and I stayed hard. He pulled his head up, repositioned himself, and then he bit me in the jugular. We both came that time.

After that, we made it as far as his shower. We cleaned each other off but then got a bit distracted, and ended up with him on his knees, sucking me off, and then me returning the favor.

We both slept in his bed that day. And every day after, for a long time.

I won’t say we never fought with each other again, because of course we did. He couldn’t help being a self-righteous bastard sometimes, and I could be a bit…snarky. But we didn’t mean anything by it, not really. I loved him. It wasn’t the same as with my Xan; my relationship with Peaches was more complicated in some ways. Not the least because he was forever worrying about redemption—something that had never particularly bothered me—and his soul wasn’t stuck on as well as mine. But I loved him all the same, and he loved me. And we were both immortal, of course, so no worries about losing one another through aging.

Our last remaining human friends all died, eventually, of course. Rupert first, although he lived to be nearly ninety, and he worked until the day he died. A Slayer found him, slumped over some book. Dawn was next. An aneurysm, same as killed her mother. And finally Red, who aged very slowly due to her magics. But another witch finally proved too strong for her, or perhaps just took her unawares. So it was just me and Angel, but that was all right. It was enough.

And then in 2083, a group of Parapi accidentally obliterated Louisville, and Americans suddenly got a mite touchy about demons. People always fancy having an enemy to call out—Communists or drug dealers or Russians or terrorists or what have you. Now it was demons. The government wankers suddenly officially acknowledged that we existed. They began to round us up, telling the public that they’d developed chips to control us.

It was a bit of a lie, really. The chips were actually created nearly a hundred years earlier, although those first ones were much more primitive. All they did was cause pain if a demon tried to harm a human. We couldn’t be zapped manually, couldn’t be paralyzed or muted or any of the other things that can be done today. I’ve mentioned before, I had one of these early bits of plastic in my brain for a few years. But there were some other problems with the early chips as well, and the people who developed them were nutters, so the chips were packed away for a century. Then along came the Parapi incident, and suddenly they dragged out those chips again.

The Americans worked with other governments to hunt down demons and either kill us or tame us. They rounded us up by the thousands, even the harmless species, but certainly vampires. Vamps had the advantage of being able to pass as human, at least for a short time, but someone invented technology to sniff us out.

When all this started, Angel and I lay low, hoping it would blow over. But it didn’t. And then we hoped that we’d be exempt because we had souls, because we’d been fighting on humans’ behalf for nearly a century in my case, and two in his. But we weren’t. We tried to contact the Watchers Council or the Slayers to see if they would intercede on our behalf, but everyone there who had personally known us was dead, and nobody was willing to trust a pair of vamps.

We went on the run.

We considered leaving the country, but that was a difficult thing to do, and besides, by then the rest of the world was following the States’ lead. Demons weren’t safe anywhere. So instead we zigzagged around, always just a step or two ahead of getting caught.

We were…I don’t know. Some nowhere little town in the south, Mississippi perhaps. We were squatting in this abandoned old house, really just a two room shack. It looked ready to tumble down in the next good wind. We’d been feeding mostly off of farm animals and occasionally deer. The night before we’d become a bit desperate, and we broke into a medical clinic and stole a few packets of blood there. So we had a few pints of human with us, but no way to heat it, and we had to drink it room temperature. I’d bought some biscuits, though, because I liked the texture.

We sat in this dusty little room, waiting for the sun to set so we could move on. We were getting bloody tired of running by then. Neither of us said it, but I think we were both considering watching the sunrise. We’d made love for hours that day, though, wrapped in dirty blankets on the warped wood floor, because what else could we do? I crumbled some biscuit into my mug and sipped slowly, while Angel stared off into nothingness.

It was winter, one of those cold, crisp days where every sound seems to echo sharply. We heard the cars approaching nearly a mile before they arrived. We knew what was coming, but had no way to escape, nowhere to run. I drank the last of my blood and swallowed the last of the soggy bits of biscuit. Angel and I kissed, deeply. We said we loved one another, which wasn’t something we said often, and hardly ever when we hadn’t just shagged.

Car doors slammed, boots ran on the hard-packed dirt, and then both doors to the house—there was one in each room—flew open. We vamped out, but the fight was over before it began. They shot us with something that knocked us out almost instantly.

I came to in a metal crate, securely hogtied and gagged. Angel was in there as well; we were crammed together in a tiny space, all elbows and knees. We couldn’t speak because of the gags, but we tried to free each other. We couldn’t. These blokes knew how to secure demons.

We bumped along roads for what felt like days, sometimes stopping, but never for long. We knew the labs were somewhere in Wyoming, and that was probably where we were going.

Eventually they pulled us out, and I had just a glimpse of a large room before I was shot again. When I woke up again, I was chained to a table, naked, and a half dozen or so humans in white coats were standing around me. I was still gagged, so I couldn’t even scream properly as I felt someone cutting into my skull. I knew what was happening to me—I told you, they’d messed about in my cranium before—and I was terrified. But I couldn’t do anything but whimper as they inserted the control chip, and then put another chip in my arm, and tattooed the number on my chest. They didn’t do the bit in my throat yet, to silence my voice. I think that technology wasn’t invented for another century or so.

I’m not certain how long I spent in the labs. They’d train me for hours, working on breaking me with the sodding chip, and then throw me in a tiny cell when they were done. I saw some other vamps about, but not Angel, and when I asked they only zapped me. It broke my dead heart, thinking of him being treated like I was.

I learned then that they weren’t just rounding demons up. They had already realized the economic potential of slaves, and they were deliberately turning some humans. Convicts, I expect. It made me ill to think of it.

I caught sight of Angel just once, as they were loading me and some others to transport us away. His back was to me, but of course I recognized his tattoo. He was kneeling on the cement floor, naked, with a collar around his neck. A human was zapping him with a controller, laughing as Angel twitched and moaned, and then zapping him again. I was gagged and couldn’t even call out to him before I was dragged away.

I spent another thirty years or so on Earth, doing various tasks that were too dangerous or tedious or disgusting for humans. But then the sea levels began rising in earnest and the weather went all wonky. There were mass famines and hurricanes and epidemics. Space travel was still in its infancy, but they sent vamps to build colonies on the moon. It was a natural solution, I suppose. We didn’t need spacesuits. As terrible as that was, I will say I never lost the awe I felt each day when I watched the Earth rise. She was still a beautiful place.

A century or so later, I was taken to another planet, and then another. I’ve traveled quite a bit around the galaxy, although I’ve been allowed to see very little.

I saw Angel one last time. It was…I don’t know. Four centuries ago, perhaps? I was being sold at an auction on Remedes Three, a tropical little hellhole far from here. I was standing on the auction block and the auctioneer was poking at me with a staff, pointing out my attributes to a crowd of plantation owners. At the edge of the square a man and a woman were strolling arm in arm. The woman held a leash, and that leash was attached to Angel’s cock. He trailed along behind them with his head bowed and his hands cuffed behind him.

At first, I didn’t believe it was truly him. A mirage, perhaps, I thought. A hallucination. I shouted his name, though. And, just before the shock from the chip sent me crashing to my knees, he looked up at me and we locked our eyes. Oh, his eyes. Even as far away as I was, I could see they were pools of anguish.

But his Masters tugged him away, out of my sight. And I was sold to a bloke who took me off-planet.

Angel could still be out there, somewhere. I hope he’s not. I hope he’s dusted, and he found that redemption he always wanted so badly. He deserves it.

 

***

 

The following day, in what was to become the routine for the next several weeks, Spike again ran alongside Master and Magnus into the woods, and again helped Master build. It went slowly. Master wasn’t much more experienced than Spike, and he was painstaking about details. But there didn’t seem to be much hurry in any case. Master clearly enjoyed the construction process, and so did Spike.

After they returned to the big house, they showered together. And then Master went to fetch his dinner and Spike’s evening feed. They ate silently, almost companionably. Spike had just finished and was gazing at the tapestry when Master walked up to him. “Here,” Master said. “I thought you might like this. It’s one of Cook’s specialties.”

Spike stared in surprise at the bowl Master was holding towards him. “For…for me, Master?” he stuttered.

Master smiled. “Yep. If you want it.”

Spike had to restrain himself from grabbing the thing out of Master’s hands. He bowed in thanks and then took the bowl carefully. It was heavy white ceramic with a small blue abstract pattern near the outside rim. He brought the bowl close to his face and inhaled deeply. Grilled meat of some kind and many spices, most of which he couldn’t identify. With an additional glance at Master for approval, he took a bite-size piece of the meat in his fingers and then popped it into his mouth.

Christ. It really was good. Spicy-hot and moist and flavorful. Spike closed his eyes and savored, concentrating on the taste as well as the unfamiliar act of chewing. Not to mention the thrill of eating something that was once a living creature, that wasn’t a synthetic chemical swill.

He opened his eyes again once he’d swallowed. Master was grinning happily at him. “You like it?”

“Yes! It’s wonderful, Master.”

“Most people who aren’t used to Cook, well, this dish just about burns their tongues right out of their mouths.”

“Vamps…our sense of taste isn’t as subtle as humans’. Blander things don’t have much flavor to me, Master.”

“So Cook’s been preparing stuff for vampires’ taste all these years. He’d be pleased to know that.” Master chuckled. “Go ahead and finish it if you want.”

Spike thanked him and slowly ate the rest of his food. He hadn’t been honest with Master, not completely. It wasn’t just the taste and texture of human food that attracted him to it, but also the way it made him feel. For a few moments, as he ate, he almost felt like a real person.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00025w50/)  
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[Chapter Eight](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/63760.html)


	8. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Scheherazade, Chapter 8/17** _

**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 8/17   
**Chapter Title:** Friends   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Today's banner art by [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/). :-) **

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000507sr/)  
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****

Chapter Eight

**Friends**

 

 

The weather grew too cold and wet for Master to work comfortably on his house. He went off somewhere else during the day, he didn’t tell Spike where, leaving Spike to stare gloomily out the window at the falling rain. It was strange. Just a couple months ago he would have nearly sold his soul to be treated so well, to be given the comparative luxury of boredom. But it seemed that every small indulgence he’d been given reminded him more of the freedoms he’d lost. Now, he wished he could be working somewhere, doing hard enough labor to keep his mind from dwelling on his past.

Master hadn’t tired at all of his tales, and that was a good thing. Spike had many more to tell as well. He thought he understood Master’s fascination with Earth. The man had never been off this backwater little planet and likely never would. It was four or five years by starship to the next nearest inhabited planet, and that one as dead boring as this. The closest place of any interest at all was over fifteen years away. Thirty years’ roundtrip might be nothing much for a vampire, or for some of the longer-lived species that traded across solar systems, but for a human, it was simply too long. So here he was, living a life of privilege to be sure, but stuck. Spike’s stories of his ancestral homeland must have seemed terribly exotic and exciting.

Late in the afternoon, Miss Dovett arrived to tidy and start a fire. Spike was always glad to see her. The warmth from the fire felt nice in the chilly room, and she smiled kindly at him. Sometimes she spoke to him as well, talking about her husband, who was a blacksmith, and her two young sons. They had an ordinary life, filled only with the usual domestic dramas, and Spike enjoyed hearing about it.

“So I told Brady that if he can learn to read by his eighth birthday, his father and I will get him a pony of his own. He’s been asking for one, and Rake has one already, but they’re such an expense. So much work, too. Brady swears he’ll take care of it, but he’s not responsible enough yet. And Rake, he doesn’t even really care about horses. He’s always going on and on about spaceships.” She dumped her dustpan into the rubbish bin on her cart, then tucked the pan and broom away. Spike wrapped his arms around his shins and scooted just a bit closer to the fire, which was toasting his back quite comfortably.

Miss Dovett smoothed the bedding and looked around the room to make sure her work was done. As she did, she frowned slightly at the rug. “He’s still having you sleep there, isn’t he, Spike?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Aren’t you cold? Without any bedding at all?”

He had to hide a wry smile against his knees. For decades, he’d spent this time of year in the ice fields, exponentially colder than he ever was in Master’s room. “I manage, Miss Dovett,” he told her.

She sniffed at this, as if she didn’t believe him. “He’s been remembering to feed you, at least?”

“Yes, Miss.” Master had been giving him feed packets morning and night, but on evenings when Master ate his dinner in his own chambers, he brought a bit of human food for Spike as well. Just a few bites, but that was plenty.

“All right, then. See you tomorrow, Spike.”

“Have a good evening, Miss.” She smiled at him and then left. He inched closer to the fire, as close as he could be without worrying about sparks, and he watched out the window—unshuttered now that the heat of the summer was past—as rain sheeted down the thick glass.

He must have fallen into a light doze, because he was surprised when the door flew open. “Hi, Spike,” Master said absently, setting a thick sheaf of papers down on his desk. “Shitty day out, isn’t it? I’ve been stuck inside, too, going through some of Father’s contracts.” He rolled his head back on his shoulders. “I’m about ready to fucking scream and my shoulders are all cramped. How about a bath tonight?”

A bath sounded lovely. “Yes, Master. Would you like me to draw it now?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Spike padded into the bathroom, shivering at the feel of the cold marble underfoot. He bent and turned on the tap, very hot as Master preferred. Miss Duvett had placed a small bottle of scented oil by the bath the previous week, perhaps guessing that Master might prefer the bath to the shower when the weather turned miserable. Now, Spike poured some of it into the churning water. It smelled of spiced oranges, like the pomanders his mum liked to keep in the linen cupboards.

Master entered a moment later and, with some assistance from Spike with his boots, efficiently shed his clothes. Then he stepped into the bath and let loose a loud sigh of contentment as he closed his eyes and sank to his shoulders. “Perfect,” he mumbled.

Spike turned off the tap and then stood uncertainly, not sure how to proceed. But Master lazily lifted his lids and then gestured at him. “C’mon in,” he said.

He sat beside Master, and the heat surrounding his body was lovely. Citrus-scented vapor rose into the frigid air, giving everything a dreamlike quality. The only sound was their lungs working in and out, Master’s strong heartbeat, and a slight drip from the tap.

Spike jumped slightly when Master languidly moved his wide hand to Spike’s thigh, not because he minded the touch, but only because he hadn’t expected it. Master squeezed lightly. “Are you happy, Spike?” he asked quietly.

“Happier than I’ve been in centuries, Master,” he replied honestly.

“But still not really happy, huh?”

Spike wasn’t sure how to answer. It wasn’t acceptable to lie to a master, but of course he wasn’t happy. He was a slave. “You’ve treated me very kindly, Master.”

Master chuckled. “You’re a diplomat, aren’t you? Okay. I get it.” He was silent then, but his hand moved a bit, until he was gently nudging Spike’s legs apart and then stroking the inside of Spike’s upper thigh. Spike let his head fall back against the edge of the bath and shut his eyes, allowing himself to take pleasure in the way his body felt. Even if it wasn’t truly his body anymore—hadn’t been for ages—he could still enjoy it now and then.

Master’s touch was feather light, nearly a tickle, and then it moved from Spike’s leg to his cock, which was already half-hard. Slowly, teasingly, Master fondled him, running his palm up Spike’s length and then all the way down to his bollocks. “Has anyone else been kind to you, Spike? In all these years?”

“Miss Dovett, Master.”

Master laughed and caressed a bit harder. “She’s taken a liking to you. Worries about you, keeps reminding me to feed you. Anybody else?”

Spike wracked his brain. There’d been plenty of cruelty over the years, loads of indifference, but true kindness? “I was punished once, Master, a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t sound kind.”

“It…it wasn’t. I’d earned the punishment, but…but it hurt.” That was an understatement. He’d refused an overseer’s orders to row faster, preferring to ride out the pain of the chip instead of submitting, hoping that the damn thing would finally just dust him. Instead, he’d been dragged up on deck and chained to a pillory and Master had used a small blade to slowly strip every bit of skin from Spike’s body, from the neck down. He’d kept Spike’s voice on, and Spike had screamed until his throat felt as raw and bloody as the rest of him. Sometimes he’d nearly blacked out, but then the overseer would splash him with a bucket of seawater, leaving him spluttering and fully aware. Eventually, Spike’s legs had given out, but still he’d hung there by his neck and wrists, choking and incoherent in his agony.

After Spike was completely flayed, Master had left him there, a warning to the other slaves.

When Spike thought the pain could get no worse, the next day Master had cuffed his hands behind his back and attached a long, heavy chain to his collar, then had him tossed overboard. Spike had been dragged along in the ship’s wake, unable to breathe, the salty water stinging him, his helpless body occasionally bashing into the hull.

He still had no idea how long that lasted. It felt like an eternity. Eventually he was hauled out and thrown into a tiny cage. He curled into a ball and shivered miserably, so full of pain he was nearly delirious.

“What was the kind part, Spike?”

“One…one of the ship’s crew. I never knew his name. He was just a boy, really, with shaggy white-blond hair and freckles. He came every night and gave me his daily ration of liquor, with a few drops of his own blood added in. And while I drank, he’d run his fingers through my hair and sing to me. Not very well, but oh, it was so lovely. He did that every night until I was mended enough to be put back to work.”

Master hadn’t stopped his hand, and, despite the anguish that the memory brought, Spike was arching into the touch. “Why’d he do that?”

“Dunno, Master. I expect…I expect he was just a very good person.”

“And that’s it? For hundreds of years?”

“Yes, Master. I’m just a vampire. A slave. Not many people are moved to compassion by the likes of me.”

“Hmmm,” said Master. He rubbed his thumb against the tip of Spike’s cock, into the slit, the pressure just right. Spike lifted his hips into the pressure and Master made a low, rumbling laugh. “We’re getting all wrinkly,” he said. “Let’s take this to dry land.”

Spike whimpered a bit when Master took his hand away, but he obediently pulled the plug and then toweled Master dry. He toweled himself as well, tempted to linger a bit over his own groin until he saw how carefully Master was watching. Master watched even more avidly as Spike oiled his own hungry little hole.

As soon as he was done, Master took his hand and led him quickly out of the bathroom and across the wooden floor. Even with the fire snapping and roaring in the corner, it was cold, and goosebumps erupted at once on both their skins. Master tugged Spike along with him and then, much to Spike’s surprise, hauled him onto his bed.

Although Master had shagged him every day, he’d never done so on his bed. Spike had assumed he hadn’t wanted to sully his bed with a slave, and although he’d occasionally looked longingly at the soft bedding, he hadn’t expected to be permitted to use it. Now, though, Master maneuvered Spike’s pliant body until Spike was in the center of the mattress, on his knees, with his shoulders down and his rump in the air. Master placed himself between Spike’s spread legs and pulled the heavy quilts up over both of them. Then he lined up his cock and, in one smooth thrust, seated himself entirely inside Spike.

Master nearly draped himself across Spike’s back, and his motions were unhurried, almost sleepy. It felt bloody good, though, each drag in or out sending tingles through Spike’s bollocks and up his spine. Master reached around, then, and grasped Spike’s throbbing cock with one hand while lightly tweaking his nipple with the other. Spike still was amazed every time Master did something like that, every time he seemed to want Spike to enjoy the sex as much as Master did.

And Spike was enjoying now. The heat from Master’s body and the warmth trapped under the bedding were cocooning him, and his skin rippled from the multiple sensations of pleasure. He turned off most of his brain—not a very hard task, under the circumstances—and wallowed instead in the feeling and scent of sex. The part of him that was demon twisted inside of him, frustrated as always by his captivity, but still excited by the arousal. Even when he was free, the only time since he was chipped that he’d been able to let the demon completely loose was when he fought, or when he and Angel had shagged. Even with Xander, he’d had to be careful, couldn’t let the demon get carried away and harm his boy.

Master’s movements became a bit faster, and Spike moaned into the sheet, which was so soft beneath him. Master dragged his tongue across Spike’s back and Spike shuddered and twitched as his already-overloaded nervous system was stimulated even more. The slap of flesh against flesh was almost deafening. Spike moaned again, louder.

Then Master shifted a bit against him and changed the angle of his thrusts, and it was just too much. Spike bucked and wailed underneath him, his climax tearing through him like a winter storm. Master rode it out, milking the creamy come from Spike’s cock, until he too groaned and bit into Spike’s shoulder and juddered his release into Spike’s pulsating channel.

Master slumped across Spike for a moment as he caught his breath. Spike expected he’d send him off to his spot on the rug next, but instead he rolled off onto his side and then pulled Spike up against him, tugging up the blankets and curling around Spike’s back. His fingers traced the toothmarks he’d left in Spike’s skin. “I bit you,” he said with wonder.

Spike didn’t reply. It was, after all, perfectly true.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Spike froze in surprise. A Master apologizing for hurting him? But, of course, this Master never had hurt him before, aside from the fairly pleasant burn and stretch when he buggered a bit too enthusiastically.

“No worries, Master,” Spike finally managed. “Vampires, we…we often bite each other when we shag. It’s…it’s nice.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Master.”

Master sighed and settled even more closely around him. Master’s damp, soft cock nestled in the crack of Spike’s arse, and Master carded his fingers gently through the curls at Spike’s groin. It was soothing.

“Did you ever have any friends, Spike? I mean, after you became a vamp. People you didn’t have sex with.” He licked at Spike’s ear.

“Yeah, Master, I had a few, I expect. A couple demons, a couple humans.”

“Tell me about one.”

 

***

 

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

I would have just ignored the bloody thing, but Xander reached over and fumbled on his nightstand until he had it in his hand. “Wha?” he mumbled.

I could hear the other end very well, even if I’d rather have been sleeping. Vampire hearing is not always a good thing. “Xander? This is Giles.”

Xan and I looked at each other with bleary eyes and groaned in unison. We’d had a rough week with some vamps who’d been eating whores in Seatac, and we were looking forward to a few days of quiet. I motioned to Xan to just hang up, but instead he said, “Hey, G-Man. What’s up?” Rupert hated to be called that, so at least there was some satisfaction there.

“We’ve received reports of some demon activity in Portland.”

Xander yawned and scratched the back of his head. “What kind of activity? Are we talking kitty poker or apocalypse here?”

“The reports haven’t been specific, I’m afraid. Just that demons have been spotted, mostly in the southeast part of the city.”

“What kind? How many?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Crap,” said Xan. We got these complaints fairly often. Somebody saw something strange, they called the police or what have you, and eventually word got back to us without any details at all. At least half the time it turned out to be nothing, just some eccentric human or something. Still, we had to investigate, just in case. Made me glad San Francisco wasn’t in our territory—the Council was constantly getting calls from there, and hardly any of them ever panned out.

“Is there anything you can tell us, Giles? Or are we just supposed to wander around until we bump into something…bumpy?”

Around about then I decided that if we were up, we might as well be _up_, and I reached over and started fondling my boy’s bare arse. He put his hand back and swatted at me, but without much conviction.

“I can give you the general neighborhood, fifteen blocks square. That should help, shouldn’t it?”

My hand crept over Xander’s hip and onto his front, where I fingered the bit just below his hipbone. He slapped at me again, gave me a dirty look over his shoulder, and then pulled a paper and pencil off his nightstand. “All right,” he said. “Hit me.”

“We believe the demons—if they exist—are most likely somewhere between the river and the railyards near Southeast 17th Avenue, and also between Powell and Holgate Boulevards.” Xan was scribbling quickly. I spiderwalked my fingers to his balls.

“Gah!” he said.

“Xander? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m just f--…ah!—fine, Giles. Just peachy.” I’d wrapped my palm around his flaccid cock and begun to stroke, feeling it twitch and pulse in my grip.

“Pet….” I purred in Xander’s ear. At the same time, I scooted closer, letting him feel how hard I was for him already, my cock pressing against his lovely arse.

“When can the two of you go down there?”

“Um, tonight, I guess. We can…fuck!...we can drive down after sunset.”

“All right. You’ll report to me if you find anything?”

“Yesssss….uh, yeah, sure, Giles.”

I heard Rupert sigh. “Good. And tell Spike to wait next time until you’ve rung off before he starts to molest you.”

Xan disconnected at that point.

 

As soon as I could go outdoors, we left. This was slightly before sunset, actually. In the gloom and drizzle, I could often venture out when it was barely dusk. We piled into our car. We had a ’65 Barracuda then. I’d tinkered with it myself, while Xan was pounding nails on the house. It wasn’t pretty, but it was fast, and it could take a beating.

I drove, and we spent most of the trip arguing over which music to listen to. I’d outfitted the car with an iPod jack, but he wanted to listen to his playlist, which was heavy on old country-western and showtunes. I couldn’t abide the thought of 170 miles of that shite. I wanted my own playlist—Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks, Ramones. The good stuff.

When we arrived, we checked into a nice hotel downtown. I’d broken him of living in the car, or of waiting until the demons were dead to find a place to sleep. Hotels were less likely to find an available room if you tried to check in covered in Hrsalkita goo. Since the Council was paying, we chose a nice place where we’d stayed before. They had free drinks in the evenings, although we’d already missed that night’s. We threw our things into our room and then went back to the car. This time Xan drove us across the river and into the area Rupert had given us.

There didn’t appear to be much to see. It was mostly houses, old ones and modest, but nicely kept up. A few apartment complexes, some small businesses, a park. A quiet, unremarkable neighborhood. We circled for a few hours but saw nothing of interest, so we went back to our hotel. Xan grabbed something to eat—I’d brought my own blood supply—and we headed to our room.

Xan loved hotels. Couldn’t blame him—room service, pay per view porn, minifridges full of liquor, and a maid to clean up your messes. And a great big bed in the middle of it all. We had a lovely, long shag in ours, and then spent the rest of the night watching the telly. We fought over that as well. We always did. He’d choose some science fiction rot, and I’d want to watch footie, or maybe a nice telenovela.

We slept most of the day, but at sunset there we were, back in the ‘Cuda and over the bridge. Another quick ride found nothing amiss, so we decided to park and walk around a bit. It was late autumn but, miraculously, it wasn’t raining, so I thought perhaps I might catch a scent of something.

We plodded back and forth for a few hours. Even though we weren’t finding any demons, I was having a nice time, just strolling hand in hand with my boy, listening to him babble contentedly. Not a bad way to spend an evening, really.

And then, as we walked down 9th Avenue, I did smell something. It was familiar, but so faint I couldn’t place it. We decided to try and track it to its source. We headed north and we’d just crossed Franklin Street when a small clot of teenaged boys appeared. “Fags!” yelled one of them as we passed. His friends snickered loudly.

We stopped in our tracks. I looked at Xan and he shrugged and grinned at me. I stepped over to the boy, and his friends clustered around him. They were wearing ragged jeans and checked shirts. The one who’d called out had short, dishwater hair and spots on his face, but he was taller than me and big. “Did you say something?” I said pleasantly. Xander stood back a bit, his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Yeah. I called you a faggot, homo,” he sneered.

“Ah. Thought so. So you weren’t asking for cigarettes, then?”

He looked confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, queerboy.”

“You were referring, then, to the fact that I enjoy putting my dick in my mate’s arse. Or having him put his in mine, yeah?”

The kiddies chortled. “Yeah, faggot,” the one said. He stepped closer until he was nearly touching me. “And I think I’m in the mood to kick some fairy ass.”

“Sorry, can’t help you there, mate. ‘M a demon, not a fairy.”

The kid made a snarling sound and swung at me. I grabbed his fist with no trouble at all and, quicker than any of his friends could track, I had him on his knees with his arm twisted painfully behind him and his hair in my fist. I tilted his head up so he could see me. His friends stood nearby, uncertain what to do.

Xander came a bit closer and said, in a friendly voice, “Did you know that studies have shown that most people who are homophobic are secretly attracted to others of the same sex?” My captive swore ineffectively. Xander smiled sweetly at him. “Which of your pals over here do you think about when you jerk off?” He pointed at one of them, a short boy with big brown eyes and a muscular frame. “Him, I bet. He’s pretty cute.”

The kid roared and tried to get away, but I held him tight. Meanwhile, the cute one glared at him and the others laughed uncomfortably.

“Now,” I said. “What was that about kicking arse?” And I vamped out.

The kid screamed like a little girl and pissed himself. Two of his friends took off running while the other two froze like deer in headlights.

“No, mister, don’t, please!” the kid cried, and he started blubbering.

One of the others turned to his mate and said, “There’s more of them!”

“Xan—“ I started.

“Got it,” he replied, and grabbed the shirt of the one who’d just spoken. “More of what, sweetheart?” he asked.

“M-m-more monsters.”

“Whatta ya mean ‘more’?”

“Like…like th-th-those!” he stuttered, and pointed down the street to a yellow and orange house.

Xan and I grinned at each other.

Xan let go of his kid, who ran off. So did his pal. I released mine as well, and he just stayed there on his knees, sniveling. I leaned down, fangs and all, and kissed his cheek. He squawked. “It’s been loads of fun,” I said. Then I changed back to human, and Xander and I had a bit of a snog.

We walked away from the kid, once again holding hands. I wager he was more careful with his tongue after that.

A steep set of steps led up to the house’s front porch. There was a grill there, and a porch swing, and three or four potted plants. A green Prius was parked in the drive. Some lights were on inside the house, but the curtains were drawn so we couldn’t see anything. The gate to the back yard was open and we walked through, but it was just a small garden, with the remains of zucchini and pumpkin sprawling all over, and a nice little deck. So we went back out front.

We stood staring at the house for a moment, and then Xan said, “Spike? Why don’t we just ring the bell?”

I looked at him, shrugged, and then ran up the stairs. Xan followed closely behind. There was a doormat. It had a picture of a frog on it and read, _Welcome Friends_.

I rang the bell, and we could hear footsteps approaching. An eye appeared at the peephole, but I couldn’t make out the species of its owner. But then the door swung wide open and someone was shouting my name: “Spike!!”

Suddenly I was engulfed in six feet of wrinkled, baggy skin. I nearly slipped back into game face, but behind me, Xander shouted, “Clem!”

“Xander!” Clem let go of me and hugged Xander instead.

Several more rounds of hugging ensued, before Clem finally stepped back a bit and grinned at us. “Come in, come in! I can’t believe you guys are here! Spike, I heard you dusted in Sunnydale.”

We all stepped inside. Another demon was standing there, as wrinkled and floppy-eared as Clem. Like Clem, he was wearing a pair of flannel sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. A fat tabby cat was winding in and out between his feet. “Guys, this is my partner, Tim. Tim, this is Spike! And Xander Harris. Remember, I told you about him? From Sunnydale? One of the Scoobies?”

Tim stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and Xander and I shook it.

Clem shooed us over to a leather sofa and he and Tim disappeared into the next room for a moment. It was a comfortable-looking room, with a big telly and a shelf full of DVD cases and loads of little knick-knacks scattered around.

Xander opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then Clem and Tim came back, carrying bottles of beer and a big bowl full of what turned out to be Doritos. Xander happily dug in. Clem sat in the recliner across from us, and Tim sat in his lap.

“It’s so great to see you again!” Clem enthused. “I’ve told Tim all about you, haven’t I, pookie?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. Sounds like you had some exciting times!”

Xander snorted and I moved closer to him. Clem and Tim exchanged a look, and then Clem said, “So I don’t mean to get personal here, but are you two, like…a couple?”

“Yeah. Three years now,” I said.

“Wow! That’s great! I’m really happy for you both.”

“Thanks. And you two?”

The demons looked fondly at each other. “Next month is our ten year anniversary. My cousin’s friend’s mother introduced us, and it was love at first sight.” They leaned their foreheads together.

“So,” said Clem. “How are you not dead, Spike? And what are you guys doing in this neck of the woods?”

We worked our way through a couple of six packs and two bags of crisps while Xander and I told them of our adventures post-Sunnydale. Clem told us how he’d moved to Vegas for a time, and then he and Tim came to Portland about six months earlier. Tim had a good job in advertising, and Clem was writing his memoirs.

It was very late by the time we finished, and Tim was trying to hide his yawns.

Xander stood. “Hey, it was great seeing you. But we better let you get some sleep, huh? Not everyone keeps vampire hours.” I stood, too, and kissed his cheek, just because he looked kissable.

“Are you guys gonna be in town a while?” Clem asked. “Maybe we could get together, play a few hands of cards or something.”

“Ta, mate, but we’ll be going home soon. We only came here to check out the reports of demon activity.”

“Really? What demon act—Oh. Us.” Clem sighed. “I bet it’s that couple next door. You know, this town has a rep for being pretty open-minded, but I guess there are bigots everywhere.” Tim patted his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Xander said. “We’ll talk to the Council, let them know there’s no problem here. You shouldn’t get any more hassles.”

“Thanks. You guys are great. You sure you won’t stick around just another day or two?” He looked so forlorn at the thought of us leaving, and even Tim was giving us puppy dog eyes.

Xander and I looked at each other. “All right,” I said. “You talked us into it.”

“That’s great!” exclaimed Clem, and Tim nodded earnestly. “Why don’t you guys come over tomorrow about seven? We can order a pizza.”

Clem hugged us again, and then we walked back to our car, hand-in-hand once again. “It’s nice to see Clem again, isn’t it?” Xan said.

“Yeah. Wondered what happened to him.”

“Tim seems nice.”

“They’re both good blokes.”

 

We slept most of the following day. Xan woke up about two hours before dark and left to get something to eat, while I called Rupert and told him all was well. Xander was gone long enough that I began to worry, but then he returned with two paper sacks and a big, cat-ate-the-canary smile.

“Looks like you enjoyed yourself, pet,” I said.

“I did.”

I eyed the bags. “What did you buy?”

“Stuff.”

I prowled closer. “If you tease the vampire, you might get bitten, you know.”

“And in what way is that supposed to be a threat?” he smirked.

I rubbed my body against his. “Did you get some pressies for your sexy, handsome lover?” I purred into his ear.

“Maybe…. Has he earned them?”

I sucked his earlobe into my mouth. “Might do,” I whispered, and I squeezed his arse.

He groaned. “Okay. Tell you what. You get one present now, and the rest later, if you’re very, very good.”

“I’d rather be very, very bad, love.”

He groaned again. “Okay. That’ll work. Here.” He held out the smaller of the bags. I snatched it away from him and upended it over the bed.

“The Adverts!” I exclaimed. “X-Ray Spex! The Heartbreakers! The Androids? Bloody hell, boy, where did you get these?” There were over a dozen CDs in all, some from fairly obscure groups.

He looked smug. “Found a record shop. Found a clerk at the record shop who was happy to give me a crash course in 70s punk in exchange for generous use of my Mastercard. Which, strictly speaking, is the Council’s Mastercard.”

I gathered him up for a thorough kiss. “Brilliant, love,” I said after I’d left him breathless. “And the rest?”

“When we get back from Clem’s,” he said firmly.

So I showered and downed a pint of the blood I’d stored in the minifridge, and then we retrieved the ‘Cuda. It was raining softly out this evening and all the city lights reflected blurrily in the river.

Clem and Tim gave us hearty greetings. Tim and Xander disappeared for a bit so they could discuss some home improvement projects Tim was working on. I think Xan was giving advice on buying compound miter saws. I stayed with Clem while he set up a poker game.

“We don’t have any kittens,” I warned him.

“Oh, that’s okay. We’re vegetarian.” He moved closer so he could whisper. “Sometimes I sneak a calico or two when Tim’s not around.” His voice returned to normal volume. “We can just play for pennies.”

Clem had a poker table top that he unfolded to place over their dining room table. He had a metal case full of chips as well, and a brand new deck of cards. “So you and Xander, huh? I never would have guessed that one.”

“Most people wouldn’t have.”

“Well, I think it’s great. You’re good together. And you seem happy, Spike.”

“I expect I am.”

He clapped my shoulder. “Good.”

Xander and Tim returned a few minutes later, and Xander immediately dove into the pizza Clem had put out. Tim brought us all beers, and then came out with a big mug of warmed blood for me. “I have a friend who works at the VA hospital,” Tim explained. “He hooked me up.”

“Cheers, mate.”

We played for hours that night, chatting about our lives and whatnot. Tim won all our pennies. We were sitting back in our chairs, nursing Heinekens, when Xan asked, “So, are you guys happy here? You plan to stay in Portland?”

Clem and Tim clasped hands and smiled lovingly at one another. “We’re going to stay here for six—no, five and half!—more years. And then we’re going to die.”

Xander choked on his beer. “You’re _what_ now?”

“We’re going to die,” Clem repeated happily. “We have the ceremony all planned and everything. It’ll be really nice. You guys will have to come!”

“You’re…you’re planning your suicide five years in advance?”

The demons chuckled. Clem explained, “Not suicide, Xan. Just death. Our species, as soon as we’re born, we get sort of an…expiration date. We know what it is our whole life. Makes things a lot easier!”

“But…but you seem so happy about it!”

“Oh, we are,” Tim said. “We get reincarnated, you know. We’ve put in a request to end up together in our next lives. We’re pretty sure it’ll be granted, because they already allowed us to adjust our death dates so we die at the same time. We might even get to spend our next lives on another planet!”

“Put in a request where?” I asked.

“To our gods, of course. They’re pretty reasonable guys.”

Xander and I looked at each other. Clearly, Clem’s people had a different take on theology than did humans.

“That, um, that sounds really nice,” Xander finally ventured.

We left a short while later, with more hugs all around and promises to stay in touch. We returned to our hotel, where Xander gave me my other pressies. He’d stopped at sort of a posh sex shop, and picked up some fun toys. We had quite a fun time trying them all out.

Shortly after dawn, we lay entwined in bed, all sticky with sweat and spunk and blood, and too knackered to do anything about it. I was playing with Xander’s hair where it curled at his neck. “Pet?” I murmured.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think will happen to you when you die?” I’d already given up on trying to convince him to let me turn him, although I still believed his death would be far in the future.

“I dunno,” he answered. “But I remember what Buffy said, that time, when we were all singing. I think…no, I’m pretty sure I’ll go someplace safe and happy, and everyone I love will be there, too.”

“’Cept me.”

“Especially you. Wouldn’t be heaven without you.” He petted my back.

“Vampire, love. ‘M going to hell. Seen it myself, you know. I’m not the pouf, holding out hope for bloody atonement.”

“Spike, I hope you continue to unlive for a long, long time after I’m gone. But when you finally dust, if you don’t end up where I am, I’ll come and drag you over myself.”

I snorted, but he sounded so stubborn about it I could nearly believe him. He gave me a peck on the cheek.

“And when I am dead—but not before, ‘cause if it was before I’d be really pissed—promise me you’ll find someone else to love.”

“Pet, I don’t—“

“Uh-uh. You have to promise, Spike, or I’ll come back and fucking haunt you. You need someone, sweetheart. We both know it. You’re my loooove vamp.” He kissed me again.

I thought about arguing with him, but he was right. “Git,” I muttered, and he laughed at me. Then he moved his hand from my back to my arse, and gave me a small slap.

“I wonder what you’d look like with some color in your cheeks,” he giggled. “Where that paddle I bought?” I dove for it, he did as well, and we had a very satisfactory wrestling match.

We did stay in touch with Clem and Tim, exchanging holiday cards and popping in for visits when we were in town. We attended their death ceremony—never seen so many wrinkles in my unlife—and they both appeared very content. They lay down with their arms around each other and _poof!_ Hearts stopped, just like that.

As we were leaving, Xander leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Remember what I said, bleach boy. Come find me when you dust, or I’ll come get you myself.”

 

***

 

Master allowed Spike to stay in his bed that night, and every night afterward. Spike felt so comfortable and warm under the soft bedding. Although Spike was always out of bed when Miss Dovett arrived, she clearly knew where he slept, and she approved of the new arrangements.

One afternoon she had him kneel while, apparently at Master’s request, she clipped his hair shorter. He was glad for that. He always hated the way his hair curled when it got long.

“I had a dream about you last night,” she said, brushing some stray hairs off his shoulder.

He twisted his head to look at her in surprise and she lightly bonked him. “Hey! Don’t move!”

“Sorry, Miss.”

“My grandmother was a seer, you know. Now, I’m not gifted like she was, but everyone always said I took after her. Even she said it. Ooh, my sister was so jealous that I was Gram’s favorite! Anyway, I can’t see things like she could, but every once in a while, my dreams are true. Maybe this was one of those times.”

She snipped another lock of hair and tilted her head to examine him critically. She cut a bit more. “Last night I dreamt of you and somebody else. He had dark hair, but not as dark as Mr. Tane’s. I think he was a vampire, but he was wearing clothes. You were sitting together in a funny sort of room, with metal walls. I’ve never seen a room made of metal before! Imagine the cost of it. There was another man in the room who looked a lot like my husband. You told them you were going home. You were happy.”

She smiled at him and gestured to him to stand. “I hope this was one of my true dreams, dear.” She brushed him off one more time and then turned to grab her broom.

[Chapter Nine](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/64394.html)  
 


	9. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 9/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 9/17   
**Chapter Title:** Bookworm   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Today's top banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/). And [](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/profile)[**katekat1010**](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/)very kindly let me borrow her art for the bottom illustration.**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000260yg/)  
---  
  
****

Chapter Nine

**Bookworm**

 

Perhaps it was another not so subtle suggestion from Miss Dovett. Perhaps it was the pathetically eager manner in which Spike greeted Master each evening when Master returned to his quarters. Or perhaps Master just thought of it himself. In any case, somehow Master came to a realization that Spike was going half-mad from boredom. He hadn’t left the room in weeks and there was nothing for him to do all day but huddle in bed, soaking up the last bits of stored heat, and watch the rain and wind outside. He didn’t even wank, at least not too often, because even vampire libido had its limits, and Master clearly preferred finding him hard and eager.

But one morning after he’d dressed, Master stood by his desk and called him over. His electronic tablet was out on the desktop. “Do you know how to work these?” he asked.

Spike nodded cautiously. Strictly speaking, slaves were not allowed to use the devices. But he’d seen his Masters use them often enough, and besides, they weren’t all that difficult. Much more intuitive than the late twentieth century computers he’d managed to master.

“Good,” Master said. “Give me your hand, then.”

Spike held his left hand out, and Master moved it over the tablet’s scanner, and then keyed in a few letters and digits.

“Okay. I’ve given you access. You can’t get at any of the household files. Can’t imagine why you’d want to anyway. But you can pull up any of the general data files. Hundreds of thousands of books, all sorts of stuff.”

Spike gaped at him. “You want—“

“I want you to keep yourself busy while I’m gone. Read, okay?”

Read. It felt so unreal that Spike felt dizzy and almost lost his balance. He couldn’t possibly manage to express what he was feeling, so instead he dropped to his knees on the polished wood floor, and fell into a deep bow of gratitude.

Master made a pleased huffing sound. “Oh, and I almost forgot. You can listen to music, too. Just keep the sound level down. It shouldn’t need to be very loud with your hearing anyway, right?”

“Yes, Master,” Spike managed to choke out, his face still pressed to the floor. “Thank you, god, thank—“

“It’s fine. You can thank me properly tonight.”

Master strode out of the room then, leaving Spike alone.

Slowly, Spike rose off the floor. He didn’t touch the tablet right away, though. Instead he eyed it warily, as if it might jump up and attack him any moment. Then he slowly, slowly moved his hand toward it. Only when he received no punishing shocks, when nothing bad at all happened to him for taking such an enormous liberty, did he finally allow contact between his fingers and the small device.

Reading! And music! He’d been allowed neither, not one single time since the day he was captured in that miserable shack in Mississippi. He even remembered the last thing he’d read, which was a Stephen King paperback he’d found discarded in one of the abandoned houses he and Angel had stayed in as they fled. And the last music he’d chosen—that was in the car, after a protracted battle with Angel because Spike would have staked himself rather than listen to a single more song by Barry Manilow. _Combat Rock_. The Clash. Nearly eight bloody centuries ago.

Once again Spike’s head spun and he couldn’t catch his breath even though he didn’t need it, and if his heart could beat it undoubtedly would have been rat-a-tat-tatting in his chest. Eight centuries. How could he bear it? How _had_ he borne it?

It was the better part of an hour before Spike was calm enough to use the tablet, and even then, he simply sat at Master’s desk, trying to decide what to access first. It was worse than plunking a starving man in front of a buffet.

He finally decided that some old, familiar texts might best help settle him. “All right,” he said quietly. He gave the tablet a few commands and then began reading out loud under his breath:
    
    
    Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring
    
    
    Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing!

 

When Miss Dovett entered the room late that afternoon, Spike jumped out of the chair so violently he nearly knocked it over. Then he stood beside the desk, trembling and panting.

“Mister Tane is letting you use his tablet, dear?”

“Y-yes, Miss Dovett.” Christ, what if he was somehow mistaken? What if he wasn’t meant to touch the thing?

“Good,” she said, nodding her head decisively. “That should help keep you occupied.”

Spike took a deep, long breath, trying to steady his nerves. “Thank you, Miss.”

She walked over and peered curiously at the screen. “What’s that you’re reading, Spike?”

“_The Iliad_, Miss. By Homer.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s…a poem about a war, Miss. Created over two millennia before I was born.”

“Goodness! Well, you can go on reading, then. I can clean around you.”

“Thank you, Miss Dovett.” He sat back down nervously, but it was some time before he could concentrate on the words again. Eventually, though, he again lost himself in the convoluted tale of honor and fate and hubris, of jealous gods and goddesses and wronged heroes.

He jumped again, although not as much, when Miss Dovett set a warm palm on his shoulder. “Read to me a little, will you? You have such a nice voice.”

Obediently, he read:

A dark cloud of grief fell upon Achilles as he listened. He

filled both hands with dust from off the ground, and poured it

over his head, disfiguring his comely face, and letting the

refuse settle over his shirt so fair and new. He flung himself

down all huge and hugely at full length, and tore his hair with

his hands.

“Oh, that’s terrible! What happened? Why is he so upset?”

“He just found out his best mate was killed in battle, Miss.”

She clucked her tongue and patted his shoulder. “Well, that’s awful. You have a good evening, Spike.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

Only after she left did it occur to him that it was quite late and he hadn’t yet bathed. He tore himself away from the tablet and hurried into the bathroom, where he took a fast shower and oiled himself. Then he returned to the tablet, but only for a short time. His hair was still damp when Master entered with their food.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Master said, smiling tiredly. “You read all day?”

“Yes, thank you, Master. It was lovely.”

“Let’s eat and you can come help clean me up, and then you can express your appreciation.”

That expression took the form of a blowjob, a long, leisurely one with Spike burrowed completely under the blankets, thinking of Achilles and Agamemnon and Hector and Priam. Master sprawled above him, running his fingers through Spike’s hair and occasionally gasping his enjoyment.

Afterwards, as Spike was still licking semen from his lips, Master tugged him up and into his long arms. Master sighed against the back of Spike’s head. “That was nice. Relaxing.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Hmm. Thank _you_. It’s what I needed. Had a rough day.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Master sighed again. “My sister’s dying. My favorite sister. Bends.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Spike repeated, and he meant it. Produced perhaps by some unhappy combination of inbreeding and a planetary environment not truly meant for humans, Bends was a common cause of death, especially among the Masters. Spike had seen its ravages several times before. It caused tendons and ligaments to contract, gradually twisting joints into contortions, causing its victims horrible pain until their internal organs eventually failed. It took months or even years to kill, and it wasn’t a death Spike would wish on anyone.

Master snuffled against him. “What did you read today?”

“_The Iliad_.”

“’He fell thunderously and his armor clattered upon him.’”

Surprised, Spike turned his head. “You’ve read it?”

“Yeah. My tutor was big on Earth literature. Everything Earth, actually. I suppose that’s where I got my interest in the subject.”

“Oh.” Spike hadn’t realized anybody still read the old stuff. For some strange reason, it reassured him to know at least a few of them did.

“Spike? How do you feel about…this?” He ran a palm down Spike’s chest and abdomen, and then to his soft cock before settling his hand on Spike’s hip. “About…what I do with you?”

Another verbal minefield. “You’re much kinder to me than anyone has been since I was captured, Master. I’m very grateful.”

“Yeah, but what about the sex? I mean, does it bother you that I fuck you?”

“You…you always let me come. It feels good for me as well, Master.”

“But that doesn’t mean you want it. Seriously, I want an honest answer. I promise I won’t punish you for it. I don’t like punishing anyone.”

Spike believed this. After all, he’d never once punished Spike for anything. Spike hadn’t broken any rules either, but that had never stopped any Masters from hurting him before. But this Master always had the power to send Spike away, to take away all his small, precious comforts on nothing more than a whim. In the end, though, Spike was a crap liar, so he told the truth.

“Master, you’re beautiful, yeah? I don’t…. It would be nice if I had a choice about things, but I don’t. I accepted that ages ago. I like to shag, and I like the way you feel inside me, and I want to make you happy so…so you’ll keep me. So no, it doesn’t bother me.”

He tensed, waiting for Master’s response. Had Master expected him to say it was the highpoint of his existence? That there was nothing in the universe he’d rather do than be used to entertain Master?

But Master smoothed his hand down Spike’s flank and settled slightly closer against him. “Good. I want to keep you, too. But I don’t want you miserable. I don’t want to…to rape you.”

Just because he didn’t hate it didn’t mean it was truly consensual, Spike thought. But he didn’t say that, of course. Instead, he inched his own arse backwards a few inches so that it was pressed firmly against Master’s groin. Rape or not, this was certainly infinitely better than the ways he’d been used by thousands of humans before Master. He remembered festival nights in the meathouse on Kshalnya, when his Master would tie him down, spread open and exposed, so that dozens of drunken men could drill into him, one after the other. By the end of the night the customers would all be too pissed to get it up anymore, and they’d get creative finding objects to bugger him with instead. He’d take days to mend.

“Tell me a story,” Master said sleepily into his hair. “Something…something in England.”

 

***

 

“No use wallowing in guilt.”

It didn’t have the effect I’d expected. He didn’t startle violently and fall over the railing and into the River Avon. He didn’t whirl around and scream like a girl. In fact, he didn’t move at all. His heart didn’t even skip a beat. It was bloody disappointing. But I knew he’d heard me. Old boy wasn’t deaf yet.

“I remember this one from Sunnydale. She was twice as stubborn as Buffy, and half as gifted.”

Still no response, as if the water slipping under the bridge was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“Oi, the witch isn’t going to give in to the dark side over this, is she? Like she did the last time her girl—“

“Shut up.” He hadn’t turned to look at me yet, but his voice was calm, in a deadly sort of way. Most blokes would have walked away then. But then, I’m not most blokes, am I? I walked a few steps closer, until I was almost touching him.

“No reason getting your knickers in a twist. I was only—“

He swung around then, fast enough to impress even a vampire, and landed his fist squarely in the middle of my face. I saw stars and blood immediately started spurting from my nose. I backed up a step or two, vamped out, and was about to launch myself at his throat, soul or no soul. But then I looked at him, his face at once angry, exhausted, and resigned. He was shaking and flexing the hand that hit me, likely sporting some newly bruised knuckles. And here we both were on a bridge, alone under a full moon, neither of us particularly caring whether we continued on with our existence.

I started to laugh.

He bunched his fist again, as if he was considering throwing another punch. And then he sighed and let his hand fall. His shoulders sagged.

I wiped my upper lip and licked some of the blood off the back of my hand. “Oh, here,” he grumbled, fumbling in his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, which he held out to me. “For Christ’s sake, use this. That’s disgusting.”

I laughed again, but I took the cloth and used it to clean my face. When I tried to hand it back to him, he made a face and held his hands out. Didn’t want vampire cooties, I expected.

I stuck the handkerchief in a pocket and leaned with my back against the rail, feeling gingerly at my nose. He leaned next to me, looking at the golden-colored buildings that rose up the hill. “What are you doing here?” he asked wearily.

“Haven’t been to Bath since I was human. Used to come here with my mum.”

“So you had a sudden fit of nostalgia that led you to travel halfway around the world, and then you coincidentally found me.”

“That’s about right.”

He stood up straight. “Look, I’m in no mood for your games, Spike. Go play with somebody else.” He made as if to walk away.

“Wait!” He paused, but didn’t turn around. “I was in Scotland. I went to see Buffy, and—“

He spun around, angry again. “See here! She’s finally happy, and if you—“

“I know,” I interrupted quietly. “I wasn’t trying to win her back, you know. Not that I ever had her to begin with,” I added bitterly.

“Then what were you doing there?”

“I…I’ve been with Peaches in LA. Ponce kept nearly getting us killed. Again. But…I couldn’t stay anymore. So now I’m in Seattle, but I’m a bit at loose ends. And I could use some money. Thought perhaps…. I dunno. Perhaps the Slayer could use me. But I guess she’s afraid she couldn’t resist the temptation of my presence, might win her away from that bloke of hers.” I didn’t really mean that, and he knew it. She was in love with a human, in a way she could never love me. She’d been nice about it, but I had no place there.

“She suggested I talk with you. I went to London first, but the Council wankers told me you’d come here to…I dunno. Grieve. Rest. Whatever.”

“I came here because I quit. I’ve had enough. Enough girls dying, enough—just enough.” He walked back to the railing and looked up at the sky. Neither of us said anything for a while.

“So, you’re going to do what? Take up gardening? Trainspotting, perhaps?”

“I don’t know, Spike. I just need some time to think. Alone.” The last word was said rather pointedly.

“All right. But do you think you could put in a word for me with the Council? Animal blood isn’t free, you know. And I can fight just fine without anybody’s help.”

“Don’t you ever want to give it up? Stop fighting?”

“And what? Collect my pension? Finally withdraw from my demon 401k? Vampire here, remember? I can’t stop.”

Perhaps I sounded a bit plaintive, because for the first time he truly focused on me without scowling. “How did you get here?” he asked.

“What?”

“To Bath, here, how did you get here? Do you have a car?”

I frowned. “No dosh, remember? I’ve been stowing away and hitching rides. Bloody inconvenient it was, too. Was easier when I could just steal something.”

“And how did you find me here?”

“Bloke at the Council. Wouldn’t give me your address, but told me you fancied a pint or two at the Hobgoblin. I only waited for you to come out.”

He frowned at the pub up the street, as if it were the pub’s fault he’d been found. Then he sighed. “All right, then. Follow me.”

We walked down the block, and then turned down a side street. He stopped in front of a tiny blue car and unlocked the doors. “A Mini? You drive a sodding Mini? And I thought you couldn’t find anything smaller than that Citroen piece of shite you used to own.”

“It’s a good car,” he muttered and we got inside.

His home was about fifteen minutes outside of town. Nice place, tucked at the bottom of a green hill. Apparently he’d come into some money at some point. I could smell horses nearby.

He parked in the drive and I followed him to the front door. He unlocked it and went inside, while I was stuck in the doorway, of course. He furrowed his brows, like he was still considering telling me to sod off, but then he said, “Spike. Please come in,” and I did.

He led me down a long, twisting hall and then into a large parlor that was overflowing with books. He gestured vaguely at the sofa and I sat while he disappeared for a minute. When he returned, he was carrying two glasses and a bottle of scotch. “I’m fresh out of blood,” he said. “This will have to do.”

I smiled and took a glass from him. “I’ll manage.”

He collapsed onto the sofa next to me. He looked different to what I was used to. Faded black jeans. Blue denim shirt over a white tee. His hair had grown a bit long and he had a small diamond in his left ear. “Your face is still a mess,” he said. “There’s a sink in there if you want to wash up.”

“Ta,” I answered, drained my glass, and put it down on top of a stack of books. I went into the tiny loo and splashed water on my face. My nose was still tender. Not for the first time, I wished I could see my reflection. My shirt was fairly well splattered as well, but it was less obvious because the fabric was black.

When I came back to the room, he’d refilled my drink. It was good stuff. Better than the whiskey Angel was always trying to hide from me.

“I heard about that battle in Los Angeles,” he said. “With Wolfram and Hart.”

“Ah, that was at least two or three apocalypses ago,” I replied flippantly. The truth was, it had been a terrible fight. We’d lost not only our friends, but something important inside us. Ever since, I’d felt like an empty shell, and I believe so had Angel.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help. I wasn’t certain whether to trust Angel.”

“Wasn’t so certain myself sometimes, and I was there. Least you didn’t try to have him dusted.”

He winced. “I didn’t…. It wasn’t like that. Robin Wood had a legitimate complaint against you and I couldn’t hazard you causing any…troubles.” He was looking down into his glass as he spoke.

“It’s all right. I understand. Don’t want the daft vamp in the middle of a battle. Wouldn’t have wanted me around, myself.”

“I was wrong,” he said quietly. “You…. We might not have won without you.”

“Would have had to find another bloody Champion.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Angel would have worn the amulet if Buffy had asked him to. That’s not what I meant. You saved Xander from Caleb, you gave Buffy the support she needed when…when the rest of us let her down.”

“I didn’t do that to save the world, Watcher. I did it for her.”

“Former Watcher. And it doesn’t matter why you did it. You did it, and…and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

I had to take a long sip after that statement. It wasn’t one I was used to hearing from anyone, and I’d certainly never expected it from him. I wasn’t certain how to respond, so finally I just said, “Cheers,” and finished off my second glass.

He yawned. “I need to turn in.”

I stood. “Well, thanks for the drinks. If you could just point me toward the nearest motorway?”

“Don’t be stupid. You can stay here tonight. I’ll drive you to London tomorrow evening.” Again, I was taken by surprise, and I only nodded.

We went up a set of creaky stairs and down another slightly dusty corridor. “It was my Aunt Helen’s house,” he said as we walked. “I used to come here on holiday when I was a boy. It’s too big for me, really, but….” His voice trailed away as he opened a door to a small bedroom at the end of the hall. I followed him inside.

There was a single bed with a white-painted metal frame and a small table and lamp beside it. Against the opposite wall was a wardrobe that was much too large for the room. The walls were papered in a faded floral pattern, and the floor was wood, with a yellow rug near the bed.

“The curtains are fairly heavy in here, and in any case, the window faces west. So you should be safe from combustion in the morning.”

“Lovely,” I said, actually touched that he’d even thought of this.

He looked around doubtfully and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s rather dusty. If you like I can—“

“’S all right. I’ve slept in crypts. I can deal with dust, as long as it’s not the wrong end of a pointed wooden thing kind.”

He nodded. “There’s a shower down the hall if you want it. Towels in the cupboard next to it.”

“Ta.”

“Good night, Spike.”

“’Night, Rupert.”

I was tired. Traveling is hard on a bloke. I stripped off my clothes and crawled between the sheets. They smelled faintly of lavender.

 

It was noon when I woke. Still plenty dark in the room, though, as he’d promised. I padded down the hall, naked, to take a shower, grabbing a fluffy maroon towel as I went.

It’s difficult to stay clean when you travel like I’d been, so it felt wonderful to stand under the warm water. I was there a long time, I expect. The room was all steamy when I’d finished. I carefully hung my towel on the side of the bath—I was a demon, but I wasn’t a rude houseguest—and walked back towards my room. I was halfway there when a door swung open and there was Rupert, suddenly in my path. His hair was wild and he wasn’t wearing much—just a pair of striped pajama trousers—but that was more than I was. I expected him to stammer or blush, but old Rupes was full of surprises.

“Did you leave any hot water?” he asked pleasantly.

“Erm, yeah.”

“Help yourself to the kitchen, if you like. Kettle’s out.”

“Thanks.” And then I had a thought. “I don’t suppose you have a washing machine, do you? Only have the one kit. Haven’t cleaned it since Glasgow.” And now the shirt was bloodstained, I might have added, but didn’t.

“There’s one downstairs. Leave your clothes in your room and I’ll take care of them. Hang on….” He popped into his room and then back out again, holding a pair of loose gray trousers. “These might fit. They have a drawstring waist.”

“Thank you,” I said, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last twelve hours.

When Rupert joined me in the kitchen, he was in jeans and a tatty green jumper. I was sitting at his table, carefully avoiding the patch of sunlight that crept in through the lacy curtains at the window. He threw my clothes in the washer, which was hidden away in a cupboard, and then I watched as he downed a cup of the Darjeeling I’d brewed and gnawed on a hunk of cheese and some grapes from his fridge. “I have a few things to do this afternoon. You may watch some telly, if you like.”

“Mind if I have a look at some of your books?”

“No, of course not. Would you like me to run by the butcher’s and get you a pint or two?”

“Yeah, please.” I’d been trying to ignore my rumbling belly, hoping I could drum up something to eat once I got to London. I hadn’t expected him to feed me either.

I spent the afternoon poking through his library. He had an impressive collection, not just supernatural shite, but also literature. I happily read through a book or two of poetry, knowing nobody was there to see and take the piss with me over it. I even found a section of trashy romance novels, which I rather suspected had once belonged to Aunt Helen, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t mention them later, if the right opportunity arose.

Rupert returned mid-afternoon with two big containers of cow’s blood for me. I’d already found his mugs, so I poured some into one of them and heated it in the microwave. He watched me drink, his brows creased thoughtfully.

“Spike, I wonder if you might help me out with something?”

I shrugged agreeably and followed him into a room he’d clearly been using as a study. There were more books there, of course, and stacks of paper and scrolls, and a big desk that looked like it had had a lot of use. He went to the shelf and pulled a green leather-bound book out, and then plunked it on the desk. It made a small cloud of dust. He began leafing through it, talking while he did.

“I was doing some work a year or so ago, updating some of the Council’s files, that sort of thing. I noticed a discrepancy in the Diaries, and I thought perhaps you could straighten it out. It concerns Angelus and Darla and Drusilla, you see.”

“Thought you were through with that lot,” I said, walking over to stand next to him.

He looked up from his pages and smiled ruefully. “Yes, well, I’m still curious.”

“Okay. What’s the problem?”

“Well, you see this bit here?” He pointed at some ancient-looking handwriting halfway down. “It says they were in London in 1860, where Angelus sired Drusilla.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I was only a little boy in short trousers then.”

Rupert looked slightly taken aback for a moment, as if it had never occurred to him that I was once a small child. He stared into my eyes with an odd, searching look. Then he shook his head slightly. “Yes. And clearly they were all back in London again in 1880, when you were turned. What I can’t ascertain, however, is where they spent the intervening years. This diary says most of the time they were in Germany, see, but….”

We’d both bent over to examine the faded text. But when he moved his finger to point to a particular passage, our heads were almost touching, and then we froze. All of a sudden, neither of us was thinking of Angelus or any of the rest of my twisted little family. I felt his breath puffing against me, warm and smelling of tea and marmalade and chewing gum.

As one, we stood up straight, the book forgotten. We were very close to each other and I had to crane my head up, as he was several inches taller. “Good Lord,” he whispered, and then he cupped his big, warm hand around my face.

That was all it took. I flung myself against him and we wrapped our arms around one another. Our lips met and we kissed hungrily, greedily. My nose ached a bit, but I didn’t care. I felt his jumper under my hands, soft and fuzzy, and beneath that were bones and muscle. He hadn’t shaved that day, and his stubble rasped against my face. My torso was bare, and his fingers wandered over my back as if he were trying to map me by touch.

His glasses were knocked askew, and he pulled slightly away to take them off. I thought he might back away, but instead he tossed them lightly onto the book and then moved back into our embrace, once again claiming my mouth with his.

I can’t explain this, even now. I never would have dreamed of snogging Rupert Giles, not in a million years, and even hundreds of years later it seems unreal. Oh, I’d long suspected he fancied blokes. But I’d never suspected he’d fancy me. Or I, him. Perhaps it was just that it had been a long time since either of us had got our end away. But then and there, it didn’t just feel good, it felt _right_.

We made out like that for a time, like a pair of school kids, until my knees felt weak and our erections pressed tightly together through what suddenly seemed like too much fabric. I nearly tore his clothes right off him. But then my conscience kicked in, and I grasped his shoulders and pushed him away.

His hair was mussed and his lips wet. His eyes were gorgeous. Christ. Bloody soul.

“Rupert. You realize who I am?”

He rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, Spike. I haven’t gone suddenly blind or senile. I’m not that ancient.”

“No, you’re a century younger than I am, aren’t you? I’m just trying to make sure you won’t hate yourself for this.”

“Hate myself for what, exactly?”

“For…being intimate with a vampire.” Bloody hell. Suddenly I sounded like William.

Rupert smiled crookedly. “I haven’t always been the stuffy old man in the tweed suits, you know. I had some adventures, once upon a time.”

“I’ve heard. Ripper, yeah? But vampires?”

“You are the very first vampire I have kissed. Mostly likely the last. But I doubt I’ll regret it.” We were still standing very near each other, and he swept me against him with one arm.

Okay. My conscience was satisfied. I shoved my hands up under his jumper and this time I conquered his mouth with mine, our teeth clacking together and our tongues tangoing. When he stopped to breathe, I moved one of my hands to the bulge in his trousers and squeezed lightly, making him moan. “I could take care of this,” I said.

He looked at my borrowed trousers, which were tented outward very noticeably, and crinkled his eyes at me. “I believe it’s a mutual problem.” He paused a beat. “I have slick upstairs.”

A vampire can, if properly motivated, move very quickly. As it turns out, so can a retired Watcher. Together, we raced up the stairs.

I had no idea what his room looked like, because as soon as we got inside, I was focused on him. I pulled his jumper over his head and dropped it on the floor. He had a t-shirt on underneath, and soon enough it was atop the jumper. He caught me looking at him and he stood back a little and spread his arms to display himself. He was in his mid-50’s then, I reckon. His wiry chest hair was mostly gray and he had a bit of a paunch. I liked the look of him, and I told him so without words, by tugging him close to kiss some more.

He slid his palms down my back and under the waist of my trousers, then on to my arse. I’d have expected his hands to be soft, a librarian’s hands, but they weren’t. He had long strong, fingers with calluses on the pads. He played the guitar, I suddenly recalled, but now it was me he was working, tuning me finely until every muscle in my body was taught as a bowstring.

I fumbled with his flies. Not something I normally did, fumble, I mean, but somehow with Rupert I felt clumsy and young. He pushed my trousers past my hips, and they fell to the floor, and then he slapped my arse, not very gently. He stopped as if to gauge my reaction, and I sighed happily and pushed back against his hand. Of course a Watcher would know how to get a demon riled up, wouldn’t he? But then I realized it wasn’t so much the demon part of me that was practically climbing inside Rupert’s skin, but that nancy William, who’d harbored a secret schoolmaster fantasy or two, somewhere deep in his subconscious.

Christ.

I managed to get Rupert’s trousers open at last and his cock sprung free. For a moment we pressed together again, allowing the precome that was already there to lubricate our cocks as they rubbed together. But then Rupert turned me around and propelled me face-forward onto his unmade bed.

While he stepped away, I buried my face in his pillow, drinking in his scent. It was so familiar—I’d been chained in his sodding bathtub once, for Christ’s sake—and yet suddenly new, with nuances I’d only just noticed. I’d rarely been physically close with human males, then—except when I’d been eating them, of course—and the complex, intense odors were driving me mad with lust.

The mattress dipped as Rupert climbed beside me. He patted my arse and I instinctively closed my legs. Patiently, he worked them apart again until I was sprawled with my feet nearly on each edge of the mattress.

I don’t know how often the Watcher got to do this. I don’t know whether I received special treatment on account of being a vampire, or perhaps just on account of being me. What I do know is he was very, very skilled at this. He’d swat me hard a few times, hard enough I’d muffle a cry into the bedding, and then caress, pressing his fingers down my crack and lightly over the skin between my legs until I was pressing back into him, and it was moans I was muffling instead. His hits became gradually harder, and my cheeks began to warm from the friction. And his exploring fingertips became more insistent, circling around the edge of my pucker but not quite breaching me. It was taking all my self control not to hump into the mattress.

When one of his skilled fingers finally slid into me, it was already slicked and I wailed out my need for more, and more. “Impatient,” he chided, slapping me again, his finger still in me, and that didn’t calm me down one bit. By the time he added a second finger I’d clambered to my knees and I was thrusting back hard to meet his movements, huffing and panting and ready to tear out his throat because he appeared so bloody calm and deliberate.

After three eternities, he withdrew his fingers and repositioned himself between my legs. One of his hands alternately pinched and stroked my abused skin while the other finally, blessedly, guided his hard column of flesh to my sphincter. He entered gradually, and it felt so good I made an inarticulate mewl and had to reach underneath myself and grab the base of my cock hard to keep from coming.

He was fully seated inside me, his pelvis nestled against my sore rump, his balls brushing slightly against the insides of my thighs. He froze and then ghosted a hand down the center of my spine. “Spike,” he murmured, his voice sounding choked.

That was the first sign I’d seen that his control wasn’t as tight as it appeared, and it made me wild. I growled and then bit into his pillow as I rammed my body backwards, forcing him to move. Instead of squeezing my cock tight I wrapped my fist around it and rubbed it. Rupert finally gave in. He pulled nearly out and then slammed into me, sending pleasurable little twinges where he hit against my buttocks. He did it again and again, and harder, and faster, and when he spanked me one more time it was enough. My whole body shook and I bellowed as I climaxed. I was still trembling beneath him when he came as well, quietly, just a tiny gasp escaping his lips.

We didn’t go to London that night. Or the next. I spent a week with him in his Aunt Helen’s house in Bath, shagging and drinking tea and cow’s blood and prying about in his books. It wasn’t love, not like with Angel, nothing like what I’d later have with Xander. Neither of us made any mistake about that. But it was comforting, a strong body beside me, inside me, at a time when I especially needed that, and I reckon so did he.

One evening, as we lay in bed, sleepy and post-coital, I sighed.

“What’s the matter, Spike? Did I wear out too early for you?”

I kissed his fingertips. “No, you were lovely, Rupert. I was only thinking that this is as close as I’ll get to heaven.”

“I hadn’t realized you were so concerned about damnation.”

“’M not. Usually.”

“I don’t believe heaven and hell exist.”

I rolled on my belly and looked at him. “But I’ve _seen_ hell, Rupert. Angel spent a hundred years there. And Buffy—“

“Yes, I’m quite aware of everyone’s history. I know there are other…places. But I think it’s too simplistic to think of them in terms of salvation and damnation.”

“Yeah, well, in any case, I doubt a demon’s bound anywhere good.”

He stroked my head. “An ordinary demon, perhaps. But you’re no ordinary demon, Spike.”

On the seventh night we squeezed into his Mini and drove silently but companionably into the city. At Watchers’ headquarters, he gathered a few of the humans and informed them that I’d be doing their work in the Pacific Northwest, that I’d patrol regularly and keep my ear to the ground, that they’d keep me informed of any problems there they heard about, and that the Council would be paying me a comfortable retainer. One or two of them grumbled but he pinned them with a hostile look and they shut their gobs.

Without another word about his supposed retirement, Rupert returned to work. He and another of the Watchers fell in love a few years later, a woman called Abigail Thurmond. They moved in together but never married.

I always rather suspected that he sent Xander to Seattle on purpose, although he never said so. He certainly was less than surprised when Xan and I announced that we were a couple. And if Xan also showed an uncanny knowledge of how and when to tan my hide a bit, he never let on where he might have learned such a thing.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00054sw1/)

 

[Chapter Ten](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/64705.html)   
  
  
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	10. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 10/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 10/17   
**Chapter Title:** Zombies   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiskeyeyes**](http://whiskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Today's great banner by [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/) . EDIT: New banner by [](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/profile)[**zoesmith**](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/)  added at the end!**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004xe0g/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Ten**

**Zombies**

 

Alone in the darkened room, Spike peered out through the window at the Masters and Mistresses in their glittering clothes, as they danced across the lawn. He could hear the band playing something lively. Servants circulated with trays of food and drinks, and children darted between the adults. Sometimes he’d get a glimpse of Master, resplendent in a dark, silky suit and a shirt that matched his eyes. At one point, Master danced quite close to his window, and Spike was shocked by the small pang of jealousy he felt at seeing Master’s arms around a tall, slender woman in a peacock-green dress. But Master whirled her around so that he was facing Spike, and even though he couldn’t have seen Spike through the shutters he winked and smiled, confident Spike was watching.

When Master finally returned to his room it was nearly dawn and the party was still going on. It was tradition, Spike knew, for the humans to celebrate the spring equinox by staying up to toast the suns as they rose.

Master had a fabric sack in his hands, and it smelled strongly of livestock and hay. Not a bad smell, Spike thought. Homey. Master himself smelled of alcohol; something fruity and light. Darkberry wine, perhaps.

“What did you think of her, Spike?” he asked, setting the bag on his desk.

“Master?”

“Sarla. The girl I was dancing with.”

“She’s very pretty, Master.” She was. She had coffee-colored skin and shining auburn hair. Her nose was long and straight and her lips were full.

“My parents want me to marry her. Her family owns a ranch a day’s ride away. It would be a good match.”

Spike had known all along his time with Master wouldn’t last forever, but at these words his gut twisted inside him. Gods, couldn’t he have had just a bit more time? Just a few months’ longer respite?

“What’s the matter, Spike?”

Spike fought to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, Master. Nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing. You looked horrified. Tell me.”

Spike swallowed. “I was hoping to stay with you longer, Master, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

Master approached and stroked Spike’s cheek with his fingertips. “You’ll stay with me. Even if I get married, I’m going to keep you, okay?”

A huge sigh of relief escaped Spike’s lungs. “Thank you, Master.”

Master leaned in and kissed Spike softly. Despite all the times they’d shagged, he’d never done this before, and it sent a shiver down Spike’s spine. Master pulled away and then ran his fingers through Spike’s hair. “I got you a present to celebrate Equinox.”

Spike blinked at him in confusion. A pressie? Master didn’t seem much for toys, but perhaps he’d decided to try something new with his slave.

Master walked to the desk and drew something out of the sack. Spike couldn’t see what; Master’s big body blocked his view. Master did something with the mysterious object—some kind of twisting motion—and then turned around. “Here you are.”

He was holding out a large glass jar that was open on the top. It was filled to the brim with red fluid, and Spike’s nose told him immediately what it was. Blood. Cow, he believed. His mouth instantly filled with saliva and he had to struggle not to allow his face to change at the rich, metallic scent.

Master smiled at him. “Go on, take it.”

Spike huffed out a quick breath. Surely Master couldn’t mean—

“Really. It’s for you. I don’t have any use for the stuff. They were slaughtering a steer for tonight’s feast, and I had them collect some for me. For you.”

“M-Master, I’m not allowed…I…can’t….”

Master pressed the jar into Spike’s hands. “Do you want it?”

“Yes, god, yes, Master.”

“Good. Then I’m ordering you to drink it.”

Spike still didn’t believe it, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He put the jar to his lips and gently tilted it. When the taste reached his tongue he staggered and Master had to grab him to keep him from falling. But he didn’t lose his grip on the jar. Master guided him down to the floor, and Spike sat with his eyes closed, slowly drinking his blood. Real blood. Aside from the few drops he’d had from that nameless kind sailor, so long ago, and his own blood that occasionally filled his mouth when he was hurt, this was the first he’d tasted since he’d been captured, all those centuries past. And even though it was not human, it was sheer bliss.

When he’d drained every last drop, Master gently pried the jar from his hands and set it on the desk. Spike’s stomach felt rounded and full, and he was still mentally reeling from the shock of it all. But then Master was standing there, looking weary, and Spike needed to let him know how thankful he was. He stood, feeling almost like a vampire for the first time in ages, and, hesitating only slightly, he returned the kiss Master had given him earlier.

They slumped in each other’s arms, and Master petted Spike’s back. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured. “Tomorrow we can start work on the house again.”

 

Spike missed being able to read so much, but it was wonderful to get out of doors again, and to be able to run alongside Magnus, and to feel his muscles stretch and ache pleasantly after a day spent hauling heavy lumber. They worked from suns up to suns down each day. In the evening, Master spent some time with his dying sister, and Spike was able to read a bit then, if he wanted. Then Master would return to his room with their dinners, and even sometimes with some more precious blood, but he’d be sad and tense. So after they ate and bathed, Spike soothed him as best as he could, first with his body and then with his words.

Master had to bring in help to install the plumbing; that was beyond his skills, apparently. While those men were there, Master set Spike to clearing a section of ground for a garden, while Master watched the plumbers carefully to ensure they didn’t waste any metal. Once the plumbing was done, the house was nearly complete, lacking only the final finishes and furnishings.

Master stood in the yard beside Spike, his hand between Spike’s shoulders, looking proudly at the structure. “We’ll be able to move in in a couple weeks. We’ll still need to build a barn for Magnus, because I’d like to keep him here most of the time, but that shouldn’t take long. We’re both old hands at construction now.”

Spike had grown confident enough in recent weeks that he was able to ask a question. “Will you live here with your wife, Master?”

Master made a face. “No. She doesn’t want to be out in the woods like this. She likes living on her family’s ranch.”

So Master would stay here only until the wedding? Spike must have looked puzzled, because Master clapped him on the back. “This marriage…Sarla and I don’t love each other, you know. Actually, she’s got some kind of thing going with one of her servants, a girl. But if we marry our families will be happy and they’ll get off both our backs about the whole thing. So Sarla and I have worked it out. She’ll stay at her family’s house, and I’ll sleep over often enough to satisfy the folks. Maybe even get her pregnant. She wants kids. But most of the time I’ll be staying here.”

Master turned and looked at Spike. “And you’ll be here all the time. It won’t…. You won’t be free or anything. But there won’t be people looking over your shoulder all the time either. You’ll have the run of the house, and I’ll set your chip so you can go about a mile into the forest in any direction, okay?”

Spike blinked at him. “I can…walk around?”

“Yeah.” Master smiled. “Nobody ever comes out here but me. I know it won’t be very exciting for you, but it’s the best I can do, you know?”

“Thank you, Master.”

“C’mon. Let’s finish getting that wall smoothed.”

As Spike followed Master inside, he processed another new and unexpected liberty that would soon be his. Slaves were never permitted to just wander around at will. Their chips would incapacitate them if they stepped outside whatever boundaries their masters set, and usually those boundaries were quite close. Part of him was angry at being so pathetically grateful for such little things, but another part was, well, pathetically grateful.

 

It was their first night in the new house. The house had only four rooms. There was a kitchen, a bedroom with a large bath attached, and a living room, all furnished as sparely as Master’s quarters in the big house. The fourth room contained Master’s desk, but he’d had a surprise waiting there for Spike this afternoon: a small table with a comfortable chair, and a tablet entirely for Spike’s use. Spike’s table was set up in front of a window, and he could look outside at the front porch, and, beyond that, the cheery little stream that was cool even in the heat of summer. It was, Spike thought, as pleasant a place as he’d ever lived in.

Once the barn was built, Master would be spending most days working on his family’s farm, leaving Spike pretty much to his own devices. Miss Dovett would be visiting the house once a month to do a really thorough cleaning. Most of the other chores fell to Spike, who was happy for ways to keep himself busy, even if it was only sweeping the floors or scrubbing the sinks. And Master was delighted that Spike could cook, because he himself didn’t know how to do much more than burn a steak.

Now, Spike and Master sat on the porch, catching the evening breeze. Master was nude, sitting on a soft rag rug he’d placed to avoid splinters from the boards of the porch floor. He was leaning back against the house. Spike was sitting between Master’s legs, resting his back against Master’s chest. His arse was pleasantly sore from a thorough celebratory buggering, his belly was full of cow’s blood, and he felt as peaceful and content as he had been since he was free.

They listened for a time to the night chorus: the brook rushing over stones, the leaves overhead rustling, small scurries in the brush. Somewhere in the woods there was a pounce and a squeal, and Spike smiled to himself, knowing that a predator had just caught its meal.

Master bent his head to buss at Spike’s cheekbone and then his neck, just above his collar. The touch on his neck made Spike shudder slightly, and Master chuckled. He’d recently discovered how sensitive that area of Spike’s body was, and how responsive Spike was to being touched there.

“It’s a nice house, isn’t it, Spike?”

Spike played with the dark hairs on Master’s legs. “It’s lovely, Master.”

“I can be happy here, I think. Can you?”

Spike hated it when Master asked him questions like this, but he had to answer, of course. “I can be happier here than anywhere on the planet,” he finally managed, absolutely truthfully.

Master laughed and kissed his temple. “There’s my diplomat again.”

 

“She’s dead, Spike,” Master sobbed, and Spike enfolded him in an embrace. “She suffered so much, and now she’s dead.” His breath reeked of alcohol.

“Then she’s at peace now, Master,” Spike said in his most comforting tones.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Believe me. I’ve seen a lot of death, Master. A lot. And there’s loads of worse things than dying.” Like being a slave for over seven centuries, he thought. Like outlasting everyone who you cared about. Nearly everyone, anyway. Because Angel—Angel was best off if he’d dusted long ago.

Master sniffled against him, then sighed. “You’re right. She was hurting so much…. I saw her eyes, Spike. If she could have still talked, she would have begged for an end. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“You know something? You’re the only one left I really care about.”

Master did care about him, Spike knew, much in the way he cared about Magnus. They were both useful to him, and pleasing to look at, and Master did honestly want them to be as contented and well taken care of as possible. Christ knew it was more than Spike had received in most of his long existence, much more that he’d dreamed of having again. And until Master grew tired of him, it would be almost good enough.

Master squeezed him tighter, and leaned against him until Spike was supporting most of his weight. “Master? Let’s go to bed, yeah? I can give you a nice blowjob.”

“I want a story,” Master mumbled against him.

“Okay. I’ve got a good one tonight.”

Reluctantly, Master peeled himself away. He grabbed Spike’s hand and walked into the house. He didn’t go straight to the bedroom, though. First he stopped in the kitchen, and he pulled a bottle of bourbon out of the cupboard. He uncapped it and took a swig, then tugged Spike away, to the bed. Master handed the bottle to Spike while he kicked off his boots and yanked off his clothes, and then they both climbed into bed. They arranged themselves so that they were seated with their backs against the pillows and Master’s arm around Spike’s shoulders. When Spike held the bottle out, Master said, “Have a drink, Spike.”

“Master, slaves aren’t—“

“Forget what slaves aren’t allowed to do! My sister’s dead and I want to drink with someone. Besides, who’ll know but me?”

Spike shrugged and tipped the bottle to his mouth. The burn in his throat was brilliant. He’d forgotten how good it would feel. Master nodded at him and he took another swallow before handing the bottle over. Master drank some as well. “Tell me a good one, Spike.”

 

***

 

“Why the bloody hell would zombies rob a bank?”

“I don’t know, Spike.”

“It’s not as if they have things to spend it on, is it? The latest in living dead fashions? Really _fresh_ carrion to munch on? Glue to keep their bits from dropping off?”

“I don’t know why zombies robbed a bank.” Angel took a corner too fast and the tires screeched in protest.

“Besides, maybe you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to rob a bank, but I didn’t think zombies had even enough smarts for that. Ones I’ve met were mostly all drool and shamble.”

Angel ran a red light. “Newer zombies are almost as capable as humans. It’s only as they rot that they get mindless.”

“Yeah, and I suppose all the zombies _you’ve_ met have been Harvard MBAs, Peaches.”

Angel rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly before making another sharp right turn. I was disappointed. I’d hoped to get him more riled up, but it looked as if he was only going to get quiet and withdrawn. That’s all he’d been doing lately. Making pained faces at me and then stomping out of the room. If I followed him he’d stalk off to his suite and slam the door in my face.

He couldn’t stalk off now, though. A source in the LAPD had rung and said a group of odd-looking blokes had robbed a bank for the third time in as many weeks. This time, a teller and a security guard had been killed. Shot, not bitten. But he’d sent the video surveillance from the last hold-up—the camera from the first had been broken, so nothing from that one—and the bad guys certainly looked like zombies. Pale, but not like vamps. More bluish-gray, with big shadows beneath their sunken eyes. And the witnesses said they reeked, which was usually a dead giveaway, if you’ll pardon the pun. Somebody could make a killing off of zombie deodorant.

It was winter, or what passed for it in LA, anyway. That was fortunate, because it meant the sun set early, and we could get to the bank before all the evidence had been cleaned away.

The car shuddered to a halt in front of an ugly brown building. It was in the parking lot of a strip mall, opposite a McDonalds. There was a whole flock of black and whites scattered near it, as well as a couple of unmarked cars and a pair of black sedans that practically screamed FBI.

Angel leapt from the car, slammed the door, and swept into the bank like bloody Batman. I ambled behind him. Didn’t need to make a grand entrance like the ponce did. The uniform at the door made as if to stop us, but Detective Ramirez was nearby, and he motioned to allow us in. We’d worked with him before, and, while he wasn’t necessarily thrilled to see us, he knew we could be very helpful in certain kinds of cases.

The corpse of a security guard lay on the floor near the center of the room. He was on his back with a big, bloody hole in the middle of his chest. Since when did zombies use guns? His eyes were open, and he looked surprised to be dead. I couldn’t see the other victim, but, judging from the activity going on behind the counter, he or she was over there.

More uniformed cops were standing uselessly about while some people in suits argued in the corner. More people in suits were busy questioning the witnesses, who were gathered along the back wall, some crying softly, all looking pale and shocky.

I could tell right away that Angel’s assumption had been right. It stank of death in here—not the fresh death of the guard and the teller, but something less recent. Something already decaying. I’d lived in cemeteries. Spent loads of time around dead things. Was dead myself, twice. The smell still made me want to sick all over the ugly purplish carpet. Vampire senses are not always an asset.

Ramirez walked over to us, scowling. He always scowled, at least when we were around. Don’t know if that was on our account or because we never saw him under the happiest of circumstances. His hair was short and more salt than pepper, and he was sporting a five o’clock shadow. He looked like someone who’d once been muscular, but had lost a lot of weight. His skin seemed to hang on him like a baggy suit. His suit itself was poorly tailored. Men’s Wearhouse clearance rack, it looked like. His tie, though, was a nice one, and neatly knotted.

“You watch the video?” he asked.

“Yes,” Angel said. A pair of regular Chatty Cathys, these two.

Ramirez nodded. “It was mostly the same this time. Six of ‘em. They just came marching in the door, and four of ‘em had guns. Nothing fancy, just some bolt action rifles.”

“Nothing fancy, but they were enough to kill two people,” Angel said.

“Yeah. The perps just blew the guard away as soon as they entered, and got the teller at the same time. Didn’t even give ‘em a chance to cooperate.”

“But they didn’t kill anyone else?”

“No. One of ‘em told everybody to get down, and the two without guns went and cleaned out the tills. Then they took off.”

Angel looked around thoughtfully. I eyed the gore-stained floor and tried not to lick my lips. Despite the smell, I was hungry.

“So,” the cop said. “Whatta ya think? These guys up your alley?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so.”

“Can I talk to a couple of the witnesses?”

“Yeah, sure. But if any of the feds ask, you’re special consultants, okay?”

Angel smirked slightly. “Sure.” Then he turned to me. “Spike, take a look around. See if you can find anything we need to know.”

“Jawohl, Herr Kommandant,” I growled as he walked away. The only thing that made me angrier than him ignoring me was him treating me like his bleeding sidekick.

 

Later that night, Ramirez sent us the surveillance video from the latest robbery. You know, I’m the one who set us up on the internet. Left to his own devices, Angel likely still would have been using carrier pigeons or the bloody Pony Express. Never was one for modern technology, my grandsire. We watched the footage and it was immediately clear that the zombies who’d committed the robbery that day were not the same ones who’d done the previous job.

“That makes sense,” Angel said, frowning at the computer monitor. “Last week’s crew is probably too decomposed to pull something like this off this week.”

“So, either we have several groups of zombies independently deciding to play Bonnie and Clyde—“

“Or somebody’s getting them to do the jobs for him.” Angel finished. “That’d explain why banks, too. I mean, you get more money doing other stuff, really, but that’d take more finesse than the zombies have.”

I nodded. “Yeah. But if you arm up some of the living dead, you can bring in a tidy haul without endangering yourself. Who’s the man behind the zombies?”

“Not necessarily a man. Could be a woman. Or a demon.”

“Woman, maybe, but not a demon. What kind of self-respecting demon wants to sit back and have corpses rob banks for him?”

He chewed at his lip. “Yeah, you’re right. Gotta be a human. A human who can control zombies.”

“Necromancer,” I said.

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“Are there any in town?”

“Last one I knew of was that Hainsley guy.”

“And we took care of him ages ago.”

Angel stood up from his desk. “If there’s a necromancer in town, somebody knows about it. I’m gonna go out and see a few people. You go question your sources.”

He swirled out before I could even manage a proper scowl. There he went, treating me like his sodding assistant again.

Angel and I had worked up a decent network of informants by then. Some of them owed us favors. Some of them did some relatively bad shite—drug dealing and rot like that—that we were willing to overlook for occasional nuggets of information. And some of them expected payment of one form or another. Some were humans, but most were demons. I went out to chat with a few.

The first several demons I spoke with didn’t know anything, though, and I was starting to feel a mite discouraged. But instead of giving up, I went to pay a visit to Ricky.

Ricky was a Ladar demon. Ladars were generally pretty innocuous, prone only to minor mischief. A lot of them were telemarketers. But my boy Ricky had got himself a pretty ugly monkey on his back, and tended to hang about nastier sorts, finding ways to feed his habit. He’d talk for a price.

I knocked on his door, a crap flat in a dodgy part of town. I’d made him give me an invite some time ago, so I could have just busted down the door. I was being polite. I heard about a dozen locks undone and the door swung slowly open. Ricky was standing there, and didn’t look too pleased to see me. His frizzy purplish hair was a mess, his orange eyes had deep shadows under them, and his scales were dull and lifeless-looking. He was wearing a frowzy blue bathrobe over not-especially-pristine boxers, and his tail was slumped on the floor behind him.

“Whatta you want?” he demanded, his face a mixture of fear, annoyance, and desperation.

“Information,” I replied.

“I don’t know nothing about nothing!” He started to close the door, but then I held up the bag in my hand, and his eyes actually lit up. “Is that--?”

“Yep. Five of ‘em.” He licked his lips. I let the hand with the bag drop. “But if you don’t know anything….” I turned as if to walk away.

Ricky grabbed my wrist, his paw hot and dry against my skin. “All right, all right. Come in.” I stepped inside his smelly flat. He looked up and down the hall furtively and then locked the door behind us.

“Whatta ya wanna know?” He wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were riveted on my plastic sack. I was trying not to look around me. His place was filthy, even by demon standards. I’d lived in nicer crypts.

“There’s someone around, a human. Playing with death. A necromancer. Tell me about him.”

He closed his eyes tight and swallowed. “I don’t—“

“Look, Ricky. It’s getting toward dawn. Either you cough up what I want to know or I’m gone, and I’m taking this with me.” I waved the bag and his eyes followed it. Might have been able to hypnotize him with it if I tried.

“Lemme see them,” he said.

Somehow, at some point. Ricky had discovered that he could get an intense high from this stuff. He’d lick it out of the tube with his long, skinny tongue, and for a few hours he’d have a nice holiday in Happyland. Problem was, then he’d come down and need more, and, although the stuff was perfectly legal, it was also bloody expensive. I kept a stash of it back at the Hyperion, ready for whenever I needed to natter with Ricky.

I slipped a hand into the bag and pulled the objects out, displaying them on my palm. He licked his lips again, his bluish tongue flickering out and then back in. “See?” I said. “Estée Lauder.”

“MagnaScopic?” he asked peering at the slim blue cylinders. I don’t know why, but only that sort would do.

“MagnaScopic,” I affirmed. “So?”

He took a deep breath, a raspy, hissing sound. “Okay. His name is Drake.”

“And?”

He shifted from leg to leg. “He’s got a buddy at one of the mortuaries, I hear. The buddy does a real sloppy embalming job and he switches bodies out of the coffins before they’re buried. So then Drake zombifies them, right? He, uh, uses them until they’re kinda falling apart, and then his pal helps him get rid of ‘em.”

“Why’s he doing this?”

Ricky shrugged. “Money. His zombies are knocking over banks, liquor stores, quickie marts, places like that.” Interesting. We hadn’t known about the other places, but then, their cameras were usually pretty bad. So maybe the cops didn’t realize the crooks were dead. Lots of humans who robbed those places smelled pretty rank anyway.

“Spike,” Ricky whined. “Give me it.”

He reached but I moved the bag away. “Uh-uh-uh. Not yet. Need an address.”

“I don’t know! I haven’t been delivering pizza to him, you know.”

I waved my hand again. “Riiiiicky,” I said.

He huffed out a sigh. “Glendale. He lives in Glendale somewhere. And I hear he buys his supplies at Wizardmart in La Crescenta.”

“Very good, Ricky-boy,” I said. “You hear any more, you let me know, right? There’s more mascara in it for you.”

He nodded unhappily. “Yeah, all right. Can I have it now?”

I tossed the makeup onto his mattress, and when he scrambled for it, I unlocked the door and let myself out. It really was almost sunup by then, so I took to the sewers and made my way back to the Hyperion. Angel was there—I could smell him as I walked by his suite—but I didn’t share with him what I’d learned. I reckoned that could wait until later.

 

I found Angel down in his office in the afternoon, looking at books. _His_ office, mind you. I didn’t get one.

I threw myself into a seat and watched him for a time, jiggling my foot and picking at a fray in the chair fabric. Finally, he looked up at me and glowered. “What?” he demanded.

“Did you find anything out last night?”

His brow furrowed even deeper. “No.” Pillock mostly beat information out of his informants. Not always the best way to learn things.

“So what’s the scheme, then, boss?”

“Research.” Apparently the sarcasm in my voice was lost on him. “We’ll do research on necromancy until sundown, and then go talk to some more people.” He pointed at a thick brown book. “Start with that one.”

“Sod this,” I said. I stalked out of his office and went to the training room to slug a punching bag until I could go outside.

I had a car. Wasn’t as nice as the pouf’s, which he’d liberated from Wolfram and Hart. He hadn’t thought to get one for me, but after we were done with those tossers, he bought an old Mustang for me. It was all right, I guess. Wasn’t a necrotinted Viper, like his. Sometimes I’d nick his car anyhow, but he’d become good at hiding the keys, and I couldn’t be arsed that night to hotwire the thing.

I drove my car north to La Crescenta. Wizardmart was in a strip mall, in between a hair salon and a place that sold mobile phones. It wasn’t a very big store, but it seemed well-stocked. There were several shelves full of books and a cozy little reading nook, and the whole place smelled of chamomile tea. It was near closing and the place was empty except for the salesclerk, a chubby woman around sixty, with steel-gray curls and mocha eyes.

She stiffened as soon as she saw me, and reached for something under the counter. “Hello,” I said, as politely as I was able. “I was hoping you could help me. See-“

“I know what you are!” she said. “I have holy water right here!”

I stopped approaching and held my hands up. “There’s now need for that, now. I’m not here to harm you. I—“

“Leave here at once, vampire!”

I sighed. Couldn’t hardly blame her. Used to eat bints like her right up. “Look. I am a vampire, but I’m not evil, see? I have a soul, and—“

“Angel?” she interrupted. “You’re Angel?”

Bloody hell. “No. I’m Spike. The _other_ vamp with a soul. I work with Angel, though.”

She relaxed a bit, but still eyed me warily. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for a bloke, name’s Drake.”

“Mr. Drake is no longer a customer of this establishment,” she told me icily.

So she did know him. That was encouraging. “I understand,” I said. “But I need to find him.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I don’t see why anyone with a soul would want to get mixed up with Mr. Drake’s business. It’s nasty. Wrong.”

“Why won’t you sell to him anymore?”

“He tried to buy a pound of dried goldenseal _and _another pound of wormwood.”

“I’m not a witch, miss. What does that mean?”

“It means he was trying to mess with necromancy. Those herbs, in those quantities—that’s for raising the dead.” She made a face then, as if she wished she could spit just at the mention of an abomination like that.

“That’s what I heard as well. That the tosser is making zombies. I want to find him and put him out of business.”

She glared at me, her eyes mere slits, for several moments. And then she must have come to some decision, because she relaxed and finally moved her hands out from under the counter. “All right,” she said. “I have an address for you.”

 

The address was in Glendale, all right, not far from Forest Lawn. Handy, that. It was a pale yellow corrugated metal building that was once a garage. You could still see the ghost of a sign along the top: AR’s Auto Body. Two vehicles were parked beside it: a beat-up delivery van and a newer Toyota. I parked a block away, in front of a taco place that was closed for the night, and walked closer. As I did, the wind shifted a bit and I caught a good whiff of the building in question. Death. It smelled of rot and corruption. It seemed the lady at Wizardmart had given me good information.

Now, I could have rung Angel up at that point. He was no doubt still dashing about the city, trying to beat tips out of hapless demons. But he might not have even picked up his mobile phone—pillock never could quite get the hang of how to use it properly. And besides, I’d done all the legwork to find this bloke. I didn’t really fancy Captain Broody sweeping in and relegating me to second banana again. So I approached the place by myself.

There were two big roll-up doors, both of them closed. There was a regular door as well. I tried it and it was locked. So then I walked around the back of the place, picking my way through scattered rubbish, and found another door. This one was propped slightly open with a small chunk of cement. As silently as I could, I inched the door open and slipped inside.

The smell hit me first—it was much worse inside. It was very dark, but I didn’t need much light to see, and what I saw was a row of corpses, laid out neatly across the oil-stained cement floor. None of them were moving, so my guess was they hadn’t yet been zombified. Towards the front of the big space was an office with a big glass window. It was dark as well, but through the window I could make out a closed door, with a thin line of light underneath it.

I should have thought of a scheme, some organized way of dealing with this bloke. But I never had been very good at that, so instead I crept forward, across the room, then into the outer office, and finally almost to that door. I meant to fling it open and surprise the git, and then…do something to him. Subdue him and drag him to the police, perhaps.

My mobile phone rang.

Of course it didn’t actually _ring_. It played a song—_London Calling_. Loudly. I scrambled to silence the thing, but it was far too late. The door crashed open and there was a tall, chubby bloke with thinning mousy hair and a tiny wisp of a mustache. And a rifle, which was pointed at me.

Before I could do anything, the bastard shot me.

He wasn’t a very good shot. Even if he was, he wouldn’t have killed me, of course, but in any case he only grazed my arm. It hurt, though, and I vamped out. I saw his face as I sprang at him, a round circle of whiteness haloed by the light from the room behind him.

“Ostonoveetsya!” he shouted, just before I would have grabbed him.

And, just like that, I was frozen.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

I snarled and growled, unable to move more than my mouth and eyes.

“Otvetye! Who are you?”

Completely without willing it, I said, “William Pratt, also known as William the Bloody, more recently called Spike.”

“Why are you here?”

“I came to stop you from creating zombies and using them to commit robberies.” Bloody hell! I couldn’t stop my mouth.

“Is there anyone else here?”

“No.”

“Come here. Preedeno zdyace.”

My legs moved me stiffly toward him. He steered me into the room and then stood me in the corner. There was a battered metal desk in there, and a filing cabinet, and a table full of dried green leaves and glass beakers and such, and another, smaller table covered with stacks of bundled money. A half-open door led to a small cupboard.

“Nye dveentye,” he said, and again I couldn’t move. “Does anybody know you’re here?”

“No.”

He smiled, revealing crooked teeth. “Who was that calling you?”

“Angel,” I replied. It had to have been. Nobody else ever rang me.

“Angel…the vampire who thinks he’s a hero?”

Bloody hell. Everyone knew who he was. “Yes,” I was forced to answer through gritted teeth.

“You work for him?”

I wanted to say no. I worked _with_ him. But I heard myself again say, “Yes.” Which was, really, the truth.

Drake crowed with glee. “Perfect! Call him back. Tell him you need to talk to him. That’s all. Just say it’s important, and have him meet you here.” He followed with more words in that other language, Russian, I think it was.

I struggled, but couldn’t stop myself from pulling my phone out of my pocket and pressing the buttons to ring Angel. I could hear his phone ringing—well, on his end it was playing _Anarchy in the U.K., actually. I’d programmed it to do that months earlier and the pouf couldn’t suss out how to change it._

“Where the hell are you, Spike?” he yelled into my ear. “We’re supposed to be looking for the zombie master, remember? If you’re off getting drunk again—“

“I need to talk with you. It’s important.”

“Talk about what?” He didn’t seem to notice the woodenness of my voice.

I just repeated myself, “I need to talk to you. It’s-“

“All right, all right. I’ll meet you back home.”

“Meet me here.”

“Spike! I’m in no mood for games tonight.”

Berk. “Meet me here.”

He sighed heavily. “Fine. Where’s ‘here’?”

I gave him the address and rang off.

“Is he coming?”

“Yes.”

Drake chortled again. He rushed out of the room then, but I still couldn’t move. It was stupid of me. I’d known since that business with Hainsley that necromancers could control vampires. After all, we were dead as well. But I’d chosen to ignore that little bit of knowledge, and now here I was.

Drake hurried back in, and when I saw what he held, I tried even harder to move. It was a long wooden dowel, likely the remains of a chair leg. It had been broken, leaving one end sharp and jagged. A stake. He was going to dust me right where I stood, and sod all I could do about it.

But he didn’t. Instead he held it out toward me. “Take it,” he commanded. I did, of course. “Hide it under your jacket.” I stuffed it into one of the inside pockets.

“Good. Now when Angel gets here, don’t mention me. Wait until he gets close to you, and then stick that through his heart.” Again, more words in Russian, and my mind was reeling.

I stood there helplessly as Drake counted his money, laughing quietly to himself. We both heard the Viper pull up front—didn’t take very long. Drake quickly ducked into the cupboard, pulling the door nearly shut.

Drake must have unlocked the front door, because Angel came right in. He saw me standing in the office and strode over, rapidly taking in the details of the room. Of course he smelled the bodies as well. “This is him? How the hell did you find him? And where is he?”

I didn’t say anything. Of its own accord, my hand crept into my jacket, reaching for the stake. I tried to warn him away with my eyes, but he didn’t get it.

“What the hell’s going on, Spike?”

I still didn’t answer.

He stomped closer, his forehead furrowed in a frown, his teeth nearly bared at me in anger. I grabbed the stake with my palm.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

He raised a fist as if to strike me and stepped closer. The rest happened very fast. My hand shot out of my duster, the stake tight in my grasp. He lurched back, his face a perfect mask of surprise. My arm swung forward, and….

And I thrust the stake through my own chest, inches from my heart.

It hurt like hell and I screamed.

Drake burst out of the cupboard, and he started to say something. But before he could get the words out, I spun around, seized his head, and then twisted it violently, instantly breaking his neck. He fell to the ground, already dead. I collapsed as well as his hold on me evaporated, and as the pointed end of that stake shifted closer to my heart.

Angel swooped down and yanked the stick out of me. I screamed again. But I wasn’t dust.

It took some time to explain what had happened. I talked while Angel tore Drake’s shirt in pieces and used it to bandage the hole in my chest and the wound in my arm. I continued talking as we left the building and I carefully climbed into the Viper—I wasn’t in any shape to drive my car home—and Angel drove us back to the Hyperion. He didn’t say much. Mostly glowered.

As we entered the hotel, he turned and looked at me in confusion. “If Drake was controlling you, how come you stabbed yourself and not me?”

I wasn’t too sure of the answer myself. “I meant to get you, but…at the last second, I was able to stop.”

“By almost dusting yourself.”

“Missed, didn’t I?”

He regarded me carefully. “On purpose?”

I looked down at my boots. “I dunno,” I whispered. It’s not what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was that I loved him, and I would have dusted myself to save him, but I couldn’t abide being treated like…like a minion. Like someone who didn’t matter to him. But I couldn’t say it, because deep in my heart, I feared that I _was_ someone who didn’t matter to him.

I trailed behind Angel as we walked up the stairs, and we stopped in front of his suite. We looked at each other then, silently. I know now, because he told me years later when we were in New York, that he wanted to invite me in. He wanted to heat me some blood and lick my wounds clean and tell me he loved me. But he wasn’t certain I wouldn’t laugh at him. Deep in his heart, he feared I’d reject him.

Berk.

So I swallowed a sigh and then continued walking to my own room, where I warmed some blood myself and stared at the telly and went to sleep.

We met with Detective Ramirez the next afternoon and told him our tale. The cops were happy—they had a dead perp and no more zombies, and they even recovered most of the stolen money. I don’t know what the official explanation was for Drake’s death, but apparently Ramirez was satisfied. Nobody bothered me about killing the bastard.

If anything, Angel avoided me even more. I expected he was angry at me for going after Drake without him, for nearly getting him dusted. I was wrong about that, but again, I didn’t find that out until years after.

I left a month later. Headed aimlessly east and had a rather nasty adventure, then came back. I tried, I really did. I wanted to stay with him. But I couldn’t. A few months later I left again, this time for Seattle, this time for good.

In the end, I can’t say I regret leaving him, because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had my time with Xander. And I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. But now, when I think of the time together that Angel and I cheated ourselves out of…it’s a hard pill to swallow, innit?   
        I hope my grandsire dusted centuries ago. But if he didn’t, if he’s still somewhere in this universe, I hope…I hope he remembers that I loved him.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00055pwk/)

 

[Chapter Eleven](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/64867.html)   
  
  
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	11. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/) for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 11/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 11/17   
**Chapter Title:** Home   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/) for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Top banner today by [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/), and gorgeous bottom banner by [](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/profile)[**zoesmith**](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/). I also added another banner at the end of yesterday's chapter, also courtesy of [](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/profile)[**zoesmith**](http://zoesmith.livejournal.com/). If you already read that chapter, you might want to [click back](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/64705.html) to take a look. **

I posted a portion of today's chapter in a slightly different form back in June.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000507sr/)  
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**  
Chapter Eleven**

**Home**

 

There were moments Spike could almost forget he was a slave. When Master was gone for a few days at Sarla’s ranch, and Spike had the little house to himself, he would wander the woods, mindful of the limits of his electronic leash. He’d hunt small creatures, sometimes. Although this chip had broader restrictions than the original one he’d had centuries ago, it only stopped him from harming sentient beings. Dumb animals were, literally, still fair game. In fact, he’d heard once that there were planets on which vampires were deliberately used for hunting, like demonic foxhounds. Here, though, Spike enjoyed the tiny bit of predation he was permitted. He was hampered only slightly by his lack of fangs.

He’d return to the house with fresh, hot blood in his belly, and he’d rinse in the creek if it was hot out, or go inside and soak in the tub if it was winter. Then he’d have his tablet for access to nearly every book ever published and every song ever recorded. And he’d have the big bed with the silky sheets all to himself, and he could wank while he thought of Angel or Xander or sometimes one of his other lovers—Dru or Buffy or Giles or others.

Sometimes Miss Dovett came by when he was alone, and that was all right. He helped with her chores, and then they’d sit at the table and drink tea, and she’d talk about her family or he would tell her the plots of films that only he remembered. She reminded him of Joyce Summers, just a bit, the way she would listen to him intently, and treat him like a person, and sometimes cluck over him in a motherly way.

And as he did these things, Spike would almost _feel_ like a person, for a moment or two.

But then he’d feel the weight of the collar around his neck, or the friction of the chair against his naked arse, or he’d look at the walls that contained him and know that his cage was larger, but still a cage. The worst moments, though, came when the light hit Master just right, and Spike spied a wrinkle, or a new gray hair, and he was reminded that Master was mortal and he was not, and someday this benevolent ownership of him would end.

At least Master didn’t seem inclined to tire of him. Spike had thought he would, especially after he was married and Sarla bore his children. But Master and his wife were content with their relationship the way it was—Master spent three or four days a month at the ranch with Sarla and the kiddies, and then returned to his life in the woods with Spike. Spike and Master still shagged nearly every day, but Spike had the definite impression that it was his neverending supply of stories that truly kept Master’s interest.

Sometimes Spike hated himself because he was almost happy like this. Not perfectly happy. Not the kind of happy that would have made his grandsire lose his soul. But content, at any rate. Content to be a slave, a kept vamp, a plaything, because he had comforts and small freedoms and nobody ever hurt him. If he thought about it, he’d end up wallowing in self-disgust. So he didn’t think of it, not often, instead keeping his mind busy with the tablet, as he was now.

He heard the clompity-clomp of approaching hooves just as he was finishing the first act of _King Lear_. “Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise,” said the Fool, and Spike agreed with that advice.

While Master settled Kadir in the small barn—Magnus had died two years earlier from colic—Spike cooked dinner. It was a simple meal, just some broiled chicken and potatoes with a spring salad on the side, but Master preferred his food simple. Spike had perfected the timing over the years, and he placed the plate on the table just as Master came in.

Master had left his muddy boots on the porch, but he was still damp from the light rain when he embraced Spike and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Good day?” He smelled of horse and earth and green things.

“Read Shakespeare, Master,” Spike replied.

“You didn’t go out?”

“No. Too muddy for good hunting today.” It would be another three or four weeks before the weather was consistently dry.

Master palmed Spike’s arse lightly and nuzzled his ear. “I’m gonna eat, then how about a nice bath?”

“Sounds brilliant.” It did. Miss Dovett had brought some new scented oils a few days earlier, and Spike was thinking that some citrusy steam would be nice.

For the last few years, Master had got in the habit of keeping them stocked in blood. He got plenty at Sarla’s ranch, and he’d installed a cooler for it in the kitchen. Spike rarely had to drink the synthetic shite anymore, for which he was profoundly grateful. So now he sipped at a cupful of the rich red stuff while Master wolfed the meal Spike had prepared. When the food was gone, Spike moved to clear the dishes, but Master grabbed his hand. “Leave it,” he said. “It can wait till morning.”

Spike smiled and they walked into the bath. He turned on the tap and dripped in some oil and helped Master off with his clothes. Middle age had settled well on the man, he thought. His chest hairs were graying, but he was still muscular and trim. He grinned when he caught Spike assessing him. “Still up to your standards, Spike?”

“You’re beautiful, Master,” Spike said sincerely.

Master caressed Spike’s shoulder. “No eternal youth for me, though.”

Spike shrugged. “Immortality’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Master’s face grew grave. “It has a heavy price, huh?”

“Yes, Master.”

Master got into the bath and motioned for Spike to follow. It was a huge bath, as big as the one in Master’s old quarters in the main house, well out of proportion to the size of the little house. A bench ran around the inside and that’s where Master sat now, with Spike beside him. They both rested their feet on the opposite side and gazed at their toes.

“Got a good story for me tonight?” Master asked after a time.

“Of course.”

“Good.”

They stayed in the bath a long time, until the water was tepid and Master had gone wrinkly. Then they dried off, and Master insisted on oiling Spike himself. Usually he preferred to watch, but tonight he had Spike bend over the sink, and he seemed to enjoy running his big, rough hands over Spike’s cheeks and inner thighs. Spike trembled slightly at the contact, his cock already hard where it pressed against the cool marble.

Master slipped a single slippery finger into Spike’s twitching hole, and then a second, preparing him with great tenderness and care. Spike pushed back slightly, panting with need, but then he mewled as Master withdrew his hands completely. Spike expected Master to bugger him then and there, or else drag him onto the bed. Instead, though, Spike was surprised when Master knelt behind him and pressed his warm lips gently to the small of Spike’s back, just above the swells of muscle.

If the kiss was surprising, Spike was astounded when Master grasped his hips and turned him around, and then smiled up at Spike impishly. “Never done this before,” Master mumbled. “Been wanting to try.” He took hold of Spike’s throbbing cock in one hand and then delicately, experimentally, licked the very tip.

Spike had to grab the sink behind him to hold himself steady, and he felt his mouth hanging open. Master’s mouth was open as well, and, after a few tentative licks, he pursed his lips around Spike’s glans.

“Master!” Spike choked out. “Slaves—“

Master removed his mouth. “If you tell me slaves aren’t supposed to do this, I’m gonna stop, and I don’t think you want me to stop, do you?”

Spike pressed his lips together and shook his head forcefully. Master chuckled. “Didn’t think so.” And he lowered his mouth back over Spike’s cock.

Spike groaned. He had to close his eyes, or else the sight of Master—his _Master_—naked on his knees before him, dark head bobbing slowly at Spike’s groin, would have completely undone him. As it was, he struggled to take deep, calming breaths, to stop himself from thrusting hard into that warm, wet suction.

He nearly sobbed when Master pulled his head up again. But the man didn’t rise from his knees. Instead, he nibbled lightly at the big vein on the underside of Spike’s organ, and he brought his other hand up to cup Spike’s bollocks. “You like that?” he whispered hoarsely.

Spike made a strangled noise that he hoped Master realized was affirmative.

“When’s the last time, Spike?”

“A-Angel.”

Master licked along Spike’s frenulum and then poked the sharp tip of his tongue into the slit. “You taste good. Salty.”

Spike moaned as Master’s teeth scraped against his retracted foreskin.

“My knees are too old for this. Let’s finish and get into bed,” Master said. He engulfed Spike’s cock once more, at the same time moving his hand away from Spike’s balls and inserting two fingers into Spike’s ready hole. He took Spike inside himself surprisingly deeply, gagged slightly, and then did it again. His fingers moved in and out, crooked so they brushed against Spike’s prostate.

The warmth from Master’s fingers and mouth spread throughout Spike’s groin and then crept up his spine, tingling and sparking. His legs felt rubbery and his head was swimming.

“M-M-Master! Please!” He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. Master sped his movements slightly. “Gonna come!”

He opened his eyes and looked down at Master, whose own lids were screwed tight, perhaps in concentration. And that was it. Spike juddered helplessly into his Master, so far lost in his climax that he felt as if his body was floating.

As Spike’s shudders slowed, Master gradually withdrew, then smoothed gently at Spike’s thighs. Spike sagged back against the sink, his vision still not clear. Master bent forward and kissed the tip of Spike’s cock, and then, with a groan, stood. His lips were swollen and wet, and when he captured Spike in a deep kiss, Spike tasted himself and whimpered.

Finally, Master pulled away. “Thank you, Master,” Spike breathed.

“My pleasure, actually. Now, let’s go take care of this,” Master said, and moved Spike’s hand to Master’s hard, glistening cock.

They walked to the bed—Spike on legs that were still slightly unsteady—and Master arranged them on their sides, his big body spooned against Spike’s smaller one. Master slid his thick cock inside Spike, and they moved together, Master’s thrusts slow and deep. He reached over to wank Spike, whose own cock had never even softened, and soon Spike was crying out and coming again. Master’s release came soon after. He didn’t pull out, though, and he petted Spike’s sticky belly slowly and nuzzled against his collar.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. Spike immediately tensed. Christ, had this been some kind of farewell?

But Master’s soothing strokes continued. “I’ll be gone about a week.” Relief rushed through Spike, heady as the orgasms he’d just had. “I’m going to Wilsonville. There’s a ship coming in, and it should have some things on board for me. Dovett will be by day after tomorrow. Let her know if you need anything.”

“Yes, Master.”

Master’s breath against Spike’s neck was warm and soft. “Now, where’s my story?”

 

***

 

It was a huge tent, with broad red and white stripes, and three tall peaks in the roof. By mid-day, the heat within the canvas walls was stifling, and the only sounds were the small shufflings of the creatures within their cages. The floor beneath us was rough wood, splintery and uncomfortable. I would just lie curled on my side in the muffled darkness, waiting.

Late afternoon was the best time. The humans arrived then to set things up for the evening. They’d come around and remove the heavy fabric covers from the cages and feed the monsters within. The front and back entrances to the tent would be opened and a large fan set up at one end. The air inside would cool considerably and the stench of demons and spilled alcohol would be blown away. Somebody would bring me a plastic bottle of cold cow’s blood and I’d sip at it slowly, watching the humans clean up the creatures’ cages—they could skip mine, since I didn’t piss and shite—and sweep and take the chairs down off of the tables. I’d ignore the Fyarl demon in the cage next to mine, which snarled silently at me and rattled its bars, and instead gazed at the thin, sparkling thing in the cage opposite, who’d gaze back sadly, his threadbare wings drooping brokenly behind him. I wished we still had our voices. I’d never spoken with a fairy before.

Shortly after the sun set, a human would come and demand that I hand over the empty bottle and that I change to my demon face. In the first days of my captivity, I had resisted, silently mouthing obscenities and refusing to play along. But then the human would only activate the shock collar that was tightly locked around my throat, and soon the pain would cause me to involuntarily vamp out anyhow. Within less than a week, I was obeying the humans’ orders, and now my wordless curses were aimed at myself.

The fangs and the yellow eyes and the bumpy brows were more amusing than my human face to the customers who would soon start to trickle in. And at least to some extent, I didn’t really mind looking like a vampire all night. Somehow it made me feel less exposed as I huddled, naked under the gazes of drunken, laughing people.

The Fyarl would spend the night shaking its cage, its impotent rage delighting the customers. The fairy was nearly as entertaining to them as he sobbed voicelessly, his tears like tiny crystals. But I did neither. I sat and clutched my arms around my knees and stared straight ahead, my face emotionless and my mind as near a blank as I could make it. Even when somebody occasionally tossed a drink at me, splashing me with sticky, sour sweetness, I didn’t react. I’d lick the vile stuff off of myself later, when the people had all gone home and the cover was back over my cage. A bath was high up on the things I tried not to allow myself to wish for. Almost as high as the rescue I was fairly certain would never arrive.

 

I didn’t notice him at first. He was simply standing behind the rope, staring at me just like all the other customers. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, and, like most of the men in the tent, he was dressed in expensive jeans and a carefully weathered t-shirt. His was blue, with the skull of a longhorned steer silkscreened on it in black. The female customers tended more toward flouncy short skirts and low-cut camisoles.

Perhaps it was the intensity of his stare that finally made me aware of him, or the fact that he stayed put while the other onlookers moved on to the next cage. In any case, eventually my fuzzy mind sharpened, and I met the blue eyes that were trained on mine, and I recognized their owner.

If I could have groaned, I would have.

I wasn’t surprised to discover the man up and walking around again. As I myself had experienced, death didn’t seem to be much of an obstacle for Wolfram and Hart. I did wonder slightly what he was doing here, in Las Vegas, but then I reckoned the evil law firm likely had plenty of presence here. Even more so now that they’d given up on Los Angeles, apparently.

I hid my face in my arms and tried not to imagine the ways in which my already bleak situation was about to get even worse.

I didn’t look up again until the tent was nearly silent, and one of the nightclub’s employees appeared to drape the fabric over my cage. Lindsey was gone, and I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved. Surely the man must want some kind of revenge, and I would just as soon find out quickly what form that was going to take. I never had been patient, even if it was only suffering I was facing.

 

Several days later, and still no further sign of Lindsey. I stretched my cramped body as best as I could, and sipped at my blood, and smiled sadly at the fairy, whose glow was almost extinguished. The fairy had been beautiful when I was first brought here, the light about him so bright I nearly feared combustion. He was still beautiful, really, even though his silvery hair was lank and the shine so dim my sensitive eyes could barely make it out. He’d had a nice smell, as well, like lavender and orange blossoms, but that had faded too.

I curled into a tight ball and hid my face in my hands and, for the first time since I’d been captured, I cried.

“Spike.”

Lindsey was wearing a suit this time. An expensive one in charcoal gray, with a cobalt shirt that was somehow crisp despite the heat, and a red tie. His face was unnaturally pale, though, almost as pale as a vampire’s. I wondered if he was still human. He didn’t have any scent at all, at least as far as I could detect.

When Lindsey saw that he had my attention, he ducked under the rope. A couple of the club’s employees were sweeping nearby, and they watched curiously, but didn’t stop their work. Lindsey had a key in his hand. “I’m gonna unlock the cage. No funny business, okay? You can’t really damage me much anyway, and I’d rather not be pullin’ fangs out of my throat. Okay?”

Some response seemed expected, so I wiped the tears from my face and nodded once.

Lindsey fit the key into the lock and swung the cage door open. It squealed loudly. It had been months since it had been opened last. Lindsey gestured at me and I slowly, cautiously, crawled out. I tried to stand but immediately collapsed. I hadn’t had any weight on my legs since I’d been stuffed into the cage.

Lindsey swore under his breath and then stooped down to grasp me under my arms. By supporting most of myself on the man, I was able to stand, one arm tightly gripping Lindsey’s shoulders. The fabric of his suit felt strange against my bare skin. “C’mon,” Lindsey said, and he dragged me to the rope. I crumpled when Lindsey unhooked the rope from its stand, and Lindsey hauled me upright again.

It became clear that Lindsey intended us to proceed to the back of the tent. But I baulked, stubbornly dragging my feet.

“Come _on_!” Lindsey said. “I ain’t got all day. I ain’t gonna hurt you, okay?” I didn’t believe him, but that wasn’t the point. I raised my hand and motioned toward the caged fairy, who was watching the small drama with great interest.

“What?” Lindsey demanded.

I gestured again.

“What the hell do you want, Spike?”

I sighed. I pointed at my mouth and shook my head.

Finally, Lindsey seemed to get the idea. “You can’t talk?”

I shook my head.

“Christ. Why not?”

I simply rolled my eyes.

Lindsey frowned and then yelled, “Hey! You with the brooms! Why can’t he talk?”

A short Latino kid with a round babyface answered. “It’s a spell, sir. Otherwise, they get really noisy, and they annoy the customers.”

“Fuck,” Lindsey muttered. “Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Let’s go.”

Once more, though, I pointed at the fairy, and this time I made a twisting motion with my hand as well.

“Spike, I can’t free everything. Just you.”

I planted my feet and shook my head doggedly. I was probably too weak to resist for long, but I wasn’t about to simply walk away and leave the fairy to die in his cage.

“Jesus Christ,” Lindsey said. But he pulled me over to the fairy, and he let me slither back down to the floor while he unlocked the bars. As soon as the cage was open, the fairy emerged and then stood on wobbly matchstick legs. He was tall, I could see now. Well over six feet. His wingspan was enormous. He bowed at Lindsey once, gravely, and then made his way the few steps to where I was sprawled on my arse. The fairy knelt, gathered me in arms that were hot and surprisingly strong, and pressed his mouth to mine. His lips were soft and dry, and his breath tasted of blackberries. Then the fairy pulled away, and as I gaped in shock, the fairy gave me a radiant smile as all his brilliant light returned in a rush. The fairy held up a three long fingers, waggled them slightly as if it meant something significant, and then, in a mown hay-scented flash, disappeared.

“Fuck,” Lindsey said again. “Partners are gonna be on my ass over that one, too.”

I didn’t resist anymore as Lindsey half-carried me to the back entrance. The other caged demons wailed silently as we passed. For a moment I thought the man was going to drag me right out into the sun, and I wouldn’t have resisted that, either. But Lindsey stopped and again let me fall to the ground. “Hang on a sec,” he said.

A black BMW had been backed up very close to the tent. Lindsey pulled some keys out of his pocket and, with a small beep, the boot popped open. Lindsey strode over and pulled a heavy blanket out, which he then brought over to me. He draped it over my head and shoulders, so all I saw as the man dragged me to the car was the wood floor giving way to hard-packed, sandy dirt. Then Lindsey was shoving me into the boot, and I curled up as Lindsey slammed the lid closed.

The car stopped and started as we drove across the city. I could have escaped, but I’d only have burnt up if I did, so I stayed where I was, hot and choking on exhaust fumes.

Eventually, the car came to a halt and, a moment later, the boot opened again. I was ready to dive under the blanket, but then I saw they were in a covered car park. Lindsey hauled me out and hung the blanket around my shoulders. Still moving slowly and awkwardly, with Lindsey helping to support me, I walked to a lift. Lindsey punched the button and the doors opened quickly. Lindsey pressed another button inside, the one for the top floor. I slumped against the walls as they rose.

On the 18th floor, Lindsey led me to one of the two doors, which he unlocked. Inside was a spacious flat, but I hung back near the door when I saw the large windows that dominated the opposite wall. “This way,” Lindsey said. We went off to the side, down a short hallway, and into a small bedroom. The window was carefully covered with heavy curtains. The room was furnished sparely, just a low bed and a sleek chest of drawers and a flat-screen television on the wall. Another doorway off to one side gave a glimpse of a bathroom.

“I need to make some calls, and then we have to have a discussion,” Lindsey said. “You want a bath while I’m on the phone?”

I nodded vigorously. Whatever the lawyer had in mind for me, at least I’d be clean for it.

I let the blanket slip from my shoulders onto the floor. Lindsey helped me sit on the edge of the bath while he ran the water. “Hot?” Lindsey asked. I nodded again. It didn’t take long for the bath to fill, and then Lindsey assisted me as I climbed inside. Bloody hell. It felt like heaven.

As soon as I was settled, Lindsey disappeared. I simply lay there for a bit, enjoying not only the feeling of the water, but also the opportunity to stretch my legs. There was a cake of soap in a holder—nothing fancy, just plain old Ivory—and after a time I reached for it and used it to carefully scrub every bit of my body. Every bit but the part of my neck that was encircled by the bloody collar, that is. There was a tiny bottle of shampoo as well, and I wondered if Lindsey had nicked it from a hotel. I used the entire bottle to wash my hair, which had grown into long, matted curls.

I was still trying to tease those snarls out with my fingers when Lindsey returned. He’d changed out of the suit and was now wearing some worn Levi’s and a faded red and white Sooners t-shirt with several small holes in the hem. He looked more relaxed than I recalled ever seeing him. “Ready to get out?” he asked.

I nodded and pulled the plug. I needed only a little help to climb over the edge of the bath, and Lindsey handed me a thick, white towel. I knotted it around my hips and leaned slightly on Lindsey’s arm as Lindsey led us out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

As soon as I was seated on the bed, Lindsey leaned toward me. I flinched away. “Hey, it’s okay. Just gonna get that collar off, okay?” So I stilled as Lindsey fiddled with the piece of metal, mumbling some numbers to himself as he did. There must be some kind of combination lock, I reckoned. The collar had just felt like smooth metal to my own probing fingers. There was a tiny click, and I sighed with relief as the collar came away in Lindsey’s hands. Lindsey tossed it onto the bed.

There was now nothing at all to stop me from attacking Lindsey. At least, nothing obvious. But I was still mindful of what the man had said earlier, about me not being able to hurt him. He might be lying, of course. But he also hadn’t done anything yet to hurt me, and so I decided to wait and see what the man was up to.

“I got the counter-spell to that voice hex. Want me to do it now?” I nodded decisively. Christ, to be able to talk again! Losing my speech had been nearly as bad as losing my freedom.

Lindsey said a few words in a language I had never heard before. There was an odd tingling in my throat, sort of a tickling, and then a painful but brief tearing sensation.

“Aah!” I cried.

Lindsey grinned at me. “It worked!”

“What—“ My voice was jagged and gravelly. I cleared my throat and tried again. “What are you doing?”

“Rescuing you, moron.”

“Why?” The rest was left unsaid. Lindsey had manipulated me, tricked me into thinking he was a friend and ally. And then, a bit later, when Lindsey truly was our ally—at least for the time being—Angel had had him murdered, with my full knowledge and implicit support. Each of us had ample reason to hate the other.

Lindsey sat heavily on the bed next to me and stared at his own bare feet. “I dunno, man. When I saw you at the club…I was just gonna leave you there. Figured either you could rot there, or else Angel would come tryin’ to save you and then I’d have a chance to get at him. Either was okay with me.”

“Angel wouldn’t come to save me.”

Lindsey looked at me quizzically. “Why not? You two have a fallin’ out?”

“Not…not exactly. We had a big row. Another one. And I left. Got caught only a few days later, too drunk to be careful. I expect the ponce doesn’t even know, just reckons I’ve left for good this time.”

“Ah.”

Neither of us said anything for a few moments. Then, I almost whispered, “So why did you rescue me, then?”

“I kept…kept picturin’ you in that fucking cage. Dreamed about it, even. I dunno. I figured when Wolfram and Hart resurrected me, they didn’t bother with whatever conscience I’d once had. But maybe they missed it. Or…or maybe I grew a new one. Anyway, it wasn’t right.” He shrugged.

“And you just came in and let me go?”

“That part was easy. The firm owns the club, you know.” I hadn’t, but I wasn’t at all surprised. “In a few days my boss is gonna hear what I did, and he’s gonna be pissed at me. But what’s he gonna do? Kill me? Send me to hell?” He smiled wryly. “Already done that.”

I thought about all this for several minutes while Lindsey toyed with the seam on his jeans. Finally, Lindsey spoke again. “I figure you can rest up here for a few days. I’ll, uh, get you some clothes, too. You can be a free vamp.”

“Okay,” said I quietly.

Lindsey stood. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll bring you some blood later, okay?”

The bed did feel very inviting. “Ta,” I replied.

 

It was nearly a week before I was up to full strength, although the human blood Lindsey had obtained—hospital rejects, he said—certainly helped. The two of us spoke very little as I recovered. In fact, I spent most of the time in my room, staring at the telly without really registering what was on it. I felt like I could sleep for a lifetime. Sometimes I considered wandering into the living room during the day, while Lindsey was at work, and standing in the beams of light that poured in through the windows. But I…couldn’t, quite.

I thought of the fairy, and wished him well, wherever he was.

Lindsey had brought me some clothes, and on the evening of the seventh day, I pulled them on. It felt strange to be wearing something again, almost as if I were putting on a costume. When Lindsey came home that evening, an hour or so after sunset, I was sitting in the living room, waiting for him.

Lindsey startled slightly when he saw me. “Gonna leave?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s time.”

Was that sadness I saw flash across Lindsey’s face? But Lindsey fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys, which he tossed at me. I caught them. “Take my car,” Lindsey said. “I was gonna get a new one anyway.”

“The firm gives you everything you want, yeah?”

Lindsey regarded me silently for a moment, and then said, “All the toys, yeah.”

As I walked to the door, Lindsey took out his wallet and held out a wad of bills. “Here. Gas money.”

I took the cash.

“Are you gonna…gonna go back to him?”

Slowly, I nodded. “Yeah, I expect so.” Where else did I have to go?

“You’ll have to tell him about me, won’t you? That I’m…alive. That I’m here.”

Again, I nodded.

“Okay.” Oddly, Lindsey didn’t look upset at that truth, nor even resigned. He almost looked hopeful, really.

My hand was on the door, but I stopped and turned, and walked a few steps back to Lindsey. Without truly planning to do so, I embraced him and then kissed him. Unlike the fairy’s kiss, this one was hard and fierce, and Lindsey moaned against me. When I pulled away some time later, Lindsey clutched at me desperately, just for a second, before letting go.

Without another word, I left. I took the lift down to the garage, and there was the BMW. I climbed inside and started it up, enjoying the way the powerful engine felt under my control. I planned to stop at a certain nightclub and let loose a few demons. And then in just a few hours, I’d be back in LA, back with Angel.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be back home.

 

***

 

Somehow, the little house seemed extra empty after Master left. Spike wandered around restlessly, unable to settle on anything to read or listen to, unable to find any more chores to keep him busy. He tried going outside, but the drizzle had intensified until sheets of rain were falling on him, even through the trees, and he couldn’t see or hear or smell much of anything besides water and mud and himself.

Master had had an odd look on his face the morning he left, as if he had a secret. Not that he was obligated to tell Spike anything anyhow, but he usually did. Had been doing so for years. It was worrying.

Spike ended up settling on the porch, his knees huddled against his chest, gazing morosely at nothing.

 

“Come up to the big house with me.”

Spike swallowed convulsively at those words. Master stroked his back calmingly. “It’s okay. Nothing bad. I need you to…see something.”

Spike’s fear gave way to curiosity and he tilted his head and furrowed his brows. Master hadn’t taken him to the big house in years. What did he want Spike to see? Was it something he’d brought from Wilsonville?

Master hadn’t bothered to take off his boots and coat when he’d returned, so together they simply walked out the door. Kadir was waiting for them, and Master swung himself into the saddle. “It’s pretty muddy for a run today, Spike. Want to ride instead?”

Spike considered this for a moment and then nodded. Master gave him a hand and Spike settled on the horse behind him, wrapping his arms around Master’s firm midsection. The saddle leather was soft, but his thighs were still beginning to chafe by the time they pulled up near the main house. They rode to the stable and dismounted. Master handed the reins to a servant who looked oddly familiar to Spike. “Thank you, Brady,” Master said, and Spike realized that this was Miss Dovett’s younger son, now all grown up.

Brady smiled at him, then, sweetly and a bit shy, and Spike caught himself smiling back. Unseemly behavior for a slave—he’d fallen into some dangerous habits in his years in the woods—but the boy didn’t seem to mind. He shook his long fringe out of his face. “You’re Spike,” he said quietly. “My Mom’s told me about you.”

Master reached over and clapped Brady on the shoulder. “Did she tell you how handsome he is?”

Brady blushed and looked down at his feet.

Spike looked to Master, who nodded his permission. “Your Mum’s told me about you as well, sir. She’s right proud of you, she is.”

The boy turned an even brighter shade of crimson and grinned from ear to ear.

“We’ll be spending the night here, Brady, so go ahead and get Kadir settled for the evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Brady said, and, with a last glance at Spike, led the horse away.

The rain had again lightened to barely more than a mist, and there were a few people scattered around the grounds. Two tall slaves were harnessed to a heavily-laden wooden cart, pulling it toward one of the outbuildings. An overseer was following along, and Spike realized with a start that he recognized her; it was the skinny one who used to enjoy hurting him so much. She narrowed her eyes at him and he lowered his gaze, watching Master’s boots ahead of him as they stomped through the grass.

Master led him to the window of his old chamber. He pulled the window open and they both stepped inside. The room looked the same as it always had. The only addition was the naked slave who knelt on the rug where Spike once had, his knees widely splayed as if to display his soft, heavy cock. His hands were behind his back and his head was deeply bowed. He was a big vampire, with broad shoulders and heavy muscles.

“Hey,” said Master. The slave slowly raised his head.

And Spike was looking into the face of his grandsire.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004b36k/)

 

[Chapter Twelve](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/65233.html)   
  
  
---  
  



	12. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 12/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 12/17   
**Chapter Title:** Shadow Demons   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**The beautiful banner at the top is by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/). I take all the blame for the pathetic, silly one at the end, though. I couldn't resist playing. **

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00024fcf/)  
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Chapter Twelve**

**Shadow Demons**

 

In the long millennium that he’d existed, Spike had seen a great many amazing things. But never had he been so surprised as to actually faint from shock.

Never, until this day.

He came to on the polished wood floor, Master kneeling at his side and stroking his hair back from his face. “Spike? Are you okay?”

Spike blinked his eyes and scrambled to his knees, wincing at the incipient bruise on the side of his head, where he’d hit the hard ground.

Angel was there on the rug, kneeling, his face a perfect mask of astonishment.

“Is that him, Spike? Is that Angel?” Master’s voice was tight with excitement.

Spike tried to reply, but found he couldn’t manage to make a single sound. So he did the best he could, which was to nod his head twice, quickly.

Master sat back on his heels and sighed with satisfaction. “Christ. Finally.”

Spike turned and looked at his Master, his head swimming, “M-M-Master? Wh-what…?”

“Go talk to him. Then I can explain.”

As if in a dream, Spike crawled slowly toward the rug. His legs wouldn’t possibly have held him. Angel was staring at him, mouth and eyes wide, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

When Spike was closer he could smell the other vampire, and then he nearly swooned again, because the scent somehow made this real in a way just the sight of Angel had not. He saw Angel’s nostrils flaring as well. The wood floor beneath him gave way to the soft carpet. Spike stopped when he was still a few feet away from Angel, and they both froze there, like bloody statues.

Spike could see now that Angel’s wrists were tied behind his back. He could smell the intoxicating scent of sire’s blood, from where the heavy ropes had dug into Angel’s flesh. Angel’s hair was long, as long as it had been when Spike was turned, and it was tangled, and there were small dirt smudges and tiny splatters of mud across his body. A number was tattooed on his chest, 4516. Angel was trembling, every muscle taut. Angel’s lips moved. “Spike?” he mouthed voicelessly.

Spike raised one hand and then slowly, cautiously, reached toward the other vampire. He touched just the very tips of his fingers to Angel’s bicep.

Real. He was real.

With a choked cry, Spike launched himself against Angel, wrapping his arms tightly around him and sobbing helplessly against his heavy collar. Angel was nearly hyperventilating, his throat making strange clicking sounds as he struggled to make a sound.

Spike had no idea long they remained like that, but eventually Master said softly, “Spike? How about if we untie his hands?”

Spike pulled himself away, sniffling and bleary eyed, with Angel’s tears wet on his neck. He nodded, and scuttled around on his knees to try to undo the ropes. They were very tight, though, and it looked as if they’d been there a long time. When Master saw he was having problems with them, he walked over and pulled a small folding knife out of his pocket. Angel cowered, and Spike laid a calming hand on his shoulder. Master sawed at the bonds and they eventually fell away.

Angel winced when Spike gently moved his arms forward. Spike lifted one of Angel’s wrists to his mouth and kissed it, then licked the blood away with little flicks of his tongue. Master put his knife back in his pocket.

“Master? Can you please…his voice?”

Master shook his head. “Not yet. The assholes lost his controller when they were shipping him here. We’re lucky we were able to get him moving again when the ship landed.” The ship. So Angel had arrived on the starship Master had mentioned. Spike remembered what it felt like to be paralyzed for years in a ship’s dark hold and he shuddered and kissed Angel’s wrist again.

“Someone’s gonna come and key a new controller for him this evening, okay? Then he’ll be able to talk. It’s why we’re staying here tonight, instead of at our place.”

_Our place_. Spike had never thought of the little house that way. After all, he owned nothing. Not even himself. But hearing Master refer to the house as theirs was such a small surprise compared to the whopper he’d just experienced that he let it go, instead leaning against his grandsire and inhaling deeply. This time Angel was able to embrace him as well, and he clutched him tightly, as if he’d never let go.

Suddenly, Spike had a terrible thought. Was Angel bound for the mines? “Master, how long…how long can he stay?” he asked. His eyes were shut tightly against the answer.

But Master touched his shoulder lightly and reassuringly. “He’s not going anywhere. He’s going to stay with us.”

Surely Spike must have heard wrong. “What, Master?”

“He’s staying with us.” Master crouched down beside them. “I’ve been looking for him for over a decade. Ever since I realized how much you love him. Still, after all these years. I’ve had people searching everywhere! I thought I’d never find him, or he’d be too far away to get here while I was still alive, you know? But we lucked out. He was on New Terra.”

“You…you searched for him?”

“Yeah. You described him to me once, remember? Thanks the gods for that tattoo.”

“Why would you do that, Master?”

Master shrugged and stood. “Because you love him. Because…people who love each other should be together.”

Spike took a shuddering breath, unbelieving that this could be true. “We’re not _people_, Master.”

“Semantics. Look, why don’t you two go get cleaned up? Dovett brought in some towels earlier. I’m gonna go scare up some dinner.”

Master turned and quickly left the room, closing the door behind himself. Angel looked shellshocked. Who could blame him, really? Spike stood and helped Angel to his feet, then led him by the hand into the loo.

Angel stood uncertainly while Spike filled the bath. As the water ran, Spike turned and looked at his grandsire in amazement. “It’s really you, innit?”

Angel nodded, slowly.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Angel stared at him and raised his brows.

“Right. Yes or no questions only.” He snorted softly. “Must be terrible torture, me being able to run my mouth, and you can’t say a word. Are you hurt?”

Angel shook his head. Then he raised his hands and looked around him with an expression that clearly asked, _What the hell is going on_?

“Get into the bath with me and I’ll tell you.”

Still blinking in confusion, Angel climbed in beside him. Spike needed the physical confirmation that this was no dream, this was truly happening, and in any case, Angel seemed too stunned to do more than sit and gape. So Spike soaped and scrubbed him, mapping every inch of his body with his fingertips, discovering that he still remembered every freckle, every tiny little scar.

As he cleaned, he told Angel of his strange relationship with this Master, and of how he’d kept out of the mines by amusing Master with his body and his words. Angel listened, docilely allowing Spike to manipulate his limbs this way and that. His face was nearly expressionless as he took it all in.

By the time Master returned, they were dry and sitting across from each other on the rug, wanting to touch but not certain if it was permitted. Master smiled at them. “Fornos will be here in a minute to key your controller, Angel. Kneel up, okay?”

Obediently, they both knelt on the carpet. They dropped their gazes to the floor when there was a knock on the door and Master let in a short, round man with frizzy gray hair. The man came over to them and stared at them for a minute.

“Which one, sir?” he asked.

“Him,” Master replied, pointing at Angel. Spike could see Angel’s body go rigid, but all that Fornos did was run a scanner near his arm, and then press some keys on the tablet he’d brought. Then he pulled a controller out of a pocket and scanned it as well.

“That should do it,” he said. “Want me to try it out?” His finger hovered near the buttons.

“No,” Master answered hastily. “I’ll do it later. I’ll let you know if it doesn’t work.”

Fornos shrugged. “Okay.” He handed the box to Master and then, with the tiniest of bows, he left the room.

Master scowled at the controller for a moment and then pushed a button. Angel immediately let out a long, loud breath. “Can you talk now?” Master asked.

“Yes, Master.” Angel’s voice was hoarse and dry, but he was still understandable.

“Good.” Master put the controller on the desk, and then stood there for a few seconds rubbing at the back of his neck. “This is…a little complicated, I guess. Hadn’t really planned for this part.” He sighed. Then he eyed the vampires, who were still on their knees. He walked over to them and sat in his old favorite chair, the one he’d buggered Spike over so many times.

“Have a seat,” he said, and Spike and Angel sank to their arses. “Let’s, uh…. Shit. Let’s get some things straight from the beginning, okay?”

They nodded.

“I’m a selfish bastard. Spike, you’re all I’ve got, really. A selfish, pathetic bastard. I’m not willing to give you up. You understand?”

Spike frowned at him. “No, Master. I…. Sorry?”

Master sighed. “I mean, you’re still mine. I still want to have sex with you, still want to hear your stories.”

“Of course, Master. I’ll do whatever you want.” Spike didn’t understand what Master was getting at. Angel was looking back and forth between them, clearly equally puzzled.

“Tomorrow morning we’re going back to our place. All three of us. The rules will be the same for you, Angel, as they are for Spike. Spike, you can fill him in. And while I’m gone, you’ll have each other, and that’s fine, okay? Just, when I’m there, don’t…. Gods. I’m not explaining this very well.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Master? Do you mean that Angel and I can…we can shag? Each other?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Master moved his hands away and looked at them. “You can shag, you can do whatever. But when I’m there, you’re still….”

“I’m still yours, Master. For however long you want me.” The thing was, Spike meant it. He didn’t love Master, not the way he’d loved Xander or Angel or others, but he did genuinely care for him. They’d been together a long time now, by human standards, and Master had treated him with kindness and compassion, had made his existence bearable. And now he’d brought him Angel.

Impulsively, Spike rose to his knees again and made his way over to Master. He leaned against Master’s legs and rested his head in Master’s denim-clad lap. “I’m still yours,” he repeated. Master sighed in relief and stroked Spike’s hair.

 

Master had meant for them all to sleep in the bed, with Spike in the middle. But Angel was clearly so tense and uncomfortable with the idea—it had been a very trying day for him—that Master finally told the vampires to sleep on the rug instead. They curled into each other’s arms and that felt so bloody good that Spike began crying again, silently, as Angel patted his back as awkwardly as ever. When Spike calmed himself down, he saw Angel’s eyes shining in the darkness, dark and pained.

Angel had hardly spoken at all. Spike understood. His grandsire was long out of the habit of talking, and it’s not as if he’d ever been that chatty to begin with. Spike wanted to taste him, to move against him, but it was too soon, and of course Master was here. Spike didn’t particularly care, and he suspected Master wouldn’t either, but Angel wasn’t nearly ready for that tonight.

“Spike?” Master’s voice was soft and deep.

“A story, Master?”

Master laughed quietly. “Yes, please. I can hardly sleep without one, anymore.”

“My stories put you to sleep, Master?” Spike was comfortable enough with him to tease very lightly.

“Your stories give me sweet dreams. Which is strange, because they tend to involve a lot of death and mayhem.”

“Want one without tonight, Master?”

“Yeah. Something light.” Master chuckled again, likely at the absurdity of asking a vampire for something fluffy.

“All right, Master.”

 

***

 

Xander had the flu.

Doesn’t sound serious, I know. But back in my day, people died from things like that all the time. I had a brother who died of yellow fever three years before I was born. His name was Robert, and all I ever knew of him was a daguerreotype my parents had had made of him after he was dead. He was dressed in a suit and surrounded by flowers, his tiny hand clutching a toy boat. So it scared me when my Xan was ill.

And I didn’t really know how to care for a sick human, although I did my best. But it had been so very long since I’d had to worry about all those messy bodily functions, and I was always afraid I wasn’t giving him enough fluids, or the soup was the wrong temperature or something. Xander smiled wanly at me from our bed, his face pale and drawn, and told me I was doing fine. But then I felt a worthless git for needing to be comforted when he was the one burning with fever and puking his guts out.

So in the end, I panicked. I called Willow.

Willow was in Arizona then, doing some sort of work with an Indian tribe there. I begged her to come to Seattle and she did, although she insisted on flying in an airplane instead of teleporting, as I’d really wanted. Apparently teleporting takes loads of strong mojo, and she didn’t feel like this was enough of an emergency to warrant it.

Xander gave me death glares when he learned she was going to visit. The two of them were still good chums and all, but he didn’t fancy being fussed over. Wasn’t anything he could do about it, though he promised to punish me when he was feeling up to it. As if that was going to dissuade me the next time!

It was afternoon when Red arrived, so I couldn’t fetch her from the airport myself. She hired a car instead, and drove herself to our cozy little house. She showed up at the door looking slightly rumpled from the trip but beautiful as always, and she gave me a big mint-and-magic scented hug.

“How’s our patient?” she asked, dumping her bags on the floor.

“I dunno. He won’t eat anything, and he has terrible diarrhea, and—“

“Spike!” came the anguished cry from the bedroom. Red and I ran in there to find Xander sitting up a bit in the bed and scowling at me.

“Are you all right, love?” I asked, rushing to his side and grabbing his wrist to feel his pulse, mostly because that seemed like the thing one ought to do in situations like that.

“I’m fine, Spike. It’s just a stomach bug, and Willow does not need to hear every little detail, okay? Hi, Will. I’m sorry you got dragged all the way here.”

She came over and patted his knee under the blankets. “Hey, it’s all right. I was wrapping things up down there and it’s nice to see you anyway. Besides, I know how worried your little love demon gets about you.” She gave me a faux-innocent smile and Xander smirked. Brilliant. They were going to gang up on me.

“Going to make some tea,” I muttered and stomped out of the room.

The kettle was just about to whistle when the phone rang. I glanced at the number as I answered it.

“Hullo, Rupert. No worries, your witch landed safe and sound.”

“Oh, right. Thank you. That’s not why I called—I’m sure Willow is quite capable of managing a journey on her own.”

“So she is. This is a social call, then?” I turned off the cooker and poured the steaming water into the teapot.

“Not quite, I’m afraid. I need your help.”

“Yeah?” I pulled three cups out of the cupboard, and the plastic bear full of honey. It was the only way I could get Xan to drink tea, but I reckoned it was good for his throat in any case.

“We’ve been getting frantic calls from San Francisco. There’s a group of Shmyantik there and—“

“Oi! San Francisco is out of our jurisdiction, remember? Send Peaches.”

“I contacted Angel, but he’s quite busy with an Adramelech cult in Laguna Niguel.”

A stab of worry went through me. Adramelech was a sun god. That lot was no group for a vampire to be messing about with, and Angel was all alone now. Then I shoved the feeling aside. No. Angel was not my concern now.

“Look, Rupert. Xander’s ill, and I don’t want—“

“Willow can care for him for a few days, can’t she? Spike, the demons are snatching children and demanding huge ransoms from their families. If the parents don’t pay, they kill the children and leave their bodies lying about the city. Four have died already.”

I sighed and poured the tea into the cups. “All right, all right.”

Xander tried to insist on going with me, but considering he could barely make it to the loo, both Red and I firmly vetoed that idea. He pouted prettily, though, and I gave him a nice snog before I left. A benefit to being undead is not having to worry about catching a virus from your boyfriend.

 

Willow ended up teleporting me to San Francisco. It would take me too long to drive and I had trouble finding a flight that wouldn’t risk my exposure to sun. She said teleporting is easier with corpses, and perhaps that’s true, but it was bloody awful. I spent a good fifteen minutes on my knees in an alley, dry-heaving and cursing witchcraft.

When I regained my equilibrium, I flashed some fang at a pair of drunk homeless men who’d been eyeing me with interest, and then I walked to my hotel. I’d chosen it because they had rooms whose windows opened only onto an airshaft, meaning there’d be little sunlight, and because it was at Fisherman’s Wharf, where most of the disappearances had occurred. As it turned out, it was a pretty posh place, and I thought I might like to return someday with my boy for a proper holiday.

As soon as I checked in I rang home to let Xan know I’d arrived all right. He and Red were watching a DVD—_Star Trek_—and he sounded as if he were feeling a bit better.

Rupert had given me the name of a contact in the city who might be able to help, and would also find me some blood. I rang the bloke up and he told me that the next night I should come on by his shop, which was on 19th Street, in the Castro. I spent the rest of the night prowling the piers for any sign of trouble, but it was late already and the tourists had gone home. The only demons I saw were harmless and I let them be.

I slept for a while and then spent the afternoon pacing my room restlessly and systematically drinking everything alcoholic in the minibar. I rang Xander a half dozen times, until Red got on the phone and yelled at me because I was disturbing his rest. I wanked half-heartedly to pay-per-view porn. The minute it was safe I went outside, and I loped the mile or two to the shop. As far as I was concerned, the sooner I got the situation there sorted, the sooner I could return home.

The bloke’s name was Sanjit Singh, and he owned a small bookshop that seemed to specialize in occult and voodoo. It was a homey place, though, with worn comfortable chairs and faded rugs and a huge ginger cat half-asleep in the front window. Sanjit himself was fortyish and very handsome, with thick black hair and a wide smile. “Nice to meet you, Spike,” he said, shaking my hand. He shut and locked the door and turned the sign so it read “Closed.” Then we sat across from each other and the cat came and landed in his lap.

“So you’re a friend of Mr. Giles, huh?”

“Rupe and I go way back.”

“My father was a Watcher, you know. I’ve never met Mr. Giles in person, but they knew each other pretty well, I guess. I’ve sold Mr. Giles some books, now and then.”

“He said you could tell me something about your local nasties.”

“Sure.” He stroked the cat’s back slowly. It had a very loud and rumbling purr. “Do you know anything about Shmyantik?”

“No. Just that they’re snatching tourist brats.”

He nodded. “Yeah. They’ve been hanging around Pier 39, the cable car lines, places like that, and grabbing children when their parents aren’t paying attention. Then they take them away and demand a ransom.”

“And nobody’s noticing them? Do they look like humans?”

“No, not really. They’re sort of…insubstantial. Shadowy. Hard to see if you don’t look carefully.”

“Brilliant.”

“I have a picture….” He looked around at the small tables nearby. “Crap. Left it upstairs. Hang on a sec.” He stood, gently displacing the cat, which gave him an evil look and stalked off. There was a door at the back of the shop and he opened it, revealing a stairway. “Honey!” he shouted up the stairs. “Can you bring me Sheffield’s _Demon Compendium_? I think I left it in the kitchen. Please?”

A male voice called back, “Sure, Sanj.”

Sanjit smiled at Spike. A moment later heavy footsteps clomped down the stairs. “Here ya go,” said the very large man who appeared, handing a red book to Sanjit. Then the man glanced in my direction and we got a good look at one another.

“Spike!” he shouted.

At the very same moment, I yelled, “Finn!” and jumped out of my chair.

He pushed past Sanjit and came toward me, his hands curled into fists and his face red with fury. I stood my ground.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here, fangface?” He still towered over me, of course. But last time I’d tangled with this twat I’d been chipped. There was nothing now to stop me from tearing him apart. Well, nothing apart from that soul, of course, and Sanjit, who was standing nearby, looking concerned.

“You two know each other, I take it?” he said.

Finn snarled. “Unfortunately.” He turned slightly toward the other man. “Did you know this is a _vampire_? You’ve been sitting here chatting with a monster.”

“Oi! How many apocalypses have _you_ stopped, soldier boy?”

“I’m gonna stop you, you undead sonofabitch!”

“Hey!!” Sanjit squeezed between us. “Knock it off! No fighting in my store.”

“Sanj, that’s a _vampire_! If you knew some of the shit he did—“

“I know he’s a vampire, honey. I’m not stupid. Rupert Giles sent him. He’s working for the Watchers.”

That wasn’t exactly true. I mean, what Xan and I did was more independent, more like freelance work. But that point didn’t seem especially important at the moment. “I’m fighting the good fight now, Finn. How about you? Still hanging about with the black helicopter lot?”

Finn growled and Sanjit had to push him away. Sanjit sighed unhappily. “C’mon, guys. Let’s sit down and discuss this like civilized peop—uh, beings, okay?”

There was a bit more frowning and grimacing, but we all finally settled in the chairs. The cat immediately appeared and leapt into Finn’s lap this time. It took some time to get our situation sorted. It probably didn’t help when it finally hit me that Riley Finn was married to a male bookshop owner who called him honey, and I laughed so hard that I nearly choked. Eventually, though, I calmed and Finn became somewhat less murderous in his stare.

“Okay. Here’s what the Shmyantik look like.” Sanjit pointed to a colored drawing of a gray, wraithlike thing that looked as if it were made of smoke. “And they come out only at night.”

“Makes my job loads easier,” I commented.

“Yeah, but they’re almost invisible. And it says here that they’re really strong, and almost impossible to fight. Nothing much seems to hurt them.”

I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Nothing much, or nothing at all?”

“According to Reynolds,” he pointed at a green book on the counter, “they don’t like human flesh.”

“They’re vegetarians, then?”

“Well, maybe, but I mean they don’t like to touch it. Not when it’s bare. It hurts them, somehow. They can touch people through clothing, I guess.”

I scratched at my cheek while Finn absently petted the cat. “All right. Anything else?”

“Yeah. They don’t like electricity.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah? So you can just zap ‘em?”

“A concentrated electrical field in their core will destroy them. Something like a cell phone or an iPod would do it. Something with a battery.”

“Where’s their core?”

He shrugged. “My sources don’t agree.”

“Lovely.” I stood and paced a bit. It helped me think, sometimes. “Do you have any idea where these beasties are holed up?”

“No. Could be anywhere. The bodies have been dumped all over town. The kids who’ve been returned alive have been dropped all over, too, and they don’t know much of anything. They were blindfolded. One of them said it smelled like fish, though.”

That might be promising. “And the ransoms?”

“They get directly deposited into some off-shore bank account.”

Finn had been silent a long time, but now he said, “What do a bunch of demons want with money anyway?”

“Even demons need dosh now and then, GI Joe. Remember?” He rolled his eyes. I wasn’t especially proud of the bit with the eggs myself, but I’d meant well by it. Mostly.

Sanjit really didn’t know anything else. I left then, shaking his hand again and patting the cat before I left. “I’ll give Buffy your best, Finn,” I shot over my shoulder as I walked out the door.

It was late as I began my stroll back toward the hotel. I considered ringing Xan and telling him about Finn, but decided he was probably asleep already. When I’d gone another block, though, I came upon a shop called Adam &amp; Steve. The window display was of mannequins in leather, and velvet-covered pedestals bearing things made of chrome and chain, and at least three dozen different bottles of slick. I smiled to myself. The shop was still open. Might as well get my boy a souvenir, I thought, and I went in.

When I came out twenty minutes later my wallet was many dollars lighter, but I had several nice little pressies tucked into my duster pockets. Just the thought of helping Xander enjoy them put a whistle on my lips and a spring in my step.

I was walking along the Embarcadero, just a block or two short of Pier 39, when I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eyes. Something dark and wispy that flitted around the corner of a building. Bloody hell. Was that one of the smoke demons?

I sped up to a trot, and caught just a glimpse of…something…ahead. It wasn’t much of anything, just sort of a shimmer in the air, like when the sun is glaring and it’s very hot. But it was in the low fifties and the sun had set long ago. I sped up. The thing led me on a bit of a chase, up this street and down that. Sometimes I’d almost lose it, but then there’d be a bit of movement, and I’d be off again. It was a dark night, overcast and moonless, and human eyes wouldn’t have seen anything at all.

I’d lost track of where we were, but we must have still been near the wharf, because it smelled of fish. The thing led me down a street that was hardly more than an alley, and then we were out from between the buildings again, and we were in the paved plaza across from the Ferry Building.

There was a large sculpture there, a blocky, concrete abstract thing with a fountain. And just in front of it was what looked like a miniature storm cloud, roiling and shifting on the ground. I glanced quickly about. There was nobody else there other than a couple bums asleep on benches, not even a car in sight other than a few that were far away, flying over the Bay Bridge. I took a step closer and the thing sort of vibrated, and that’s when I realized that there was more than one of the bloody things there. I wasn’t certain whether it was deliberate or not, but the spooky fucker had led me straight to the whole lot of them.

For a moment I just stood there, feeling slightly seasick from the motion in front of me. Finally, I stepped closer and said, “Oi! We need to have a conversation.”

The Shmyantik shimmered a bit more violently, and then suddenly a piece of the cloud shot toward me. I grabbed at it, but it was like snatching at candyfloss, and it swiped against me. The entire side of my body where it contacted me exploded in pain and I roared.

The demon blew away again, back to join its fellows. I morphed to gameface and the demon mist fell apart for a moment before coalescing once more. I thought I saw five separate pieces, but it was difficult to tell.

Another one of the demons rushed forward. Again I lunged for it, this time with fangs as well as hands, and again I was left only with a flash of roaring agony on my back.

Christ. They were testing me, I could tell, the way a predator toys with its prey. Who would know that better than I? But how the fuck was I supposed to fight these things?

Then I remembered what Sanjit said. Skin. They don’t like skin. I hoped that that applied to vamp skin as well as human, and I ducked another spinning bit of demon and shrugged out of my coat. My shirt came next, and I threw my clothing off to the side. But two of the things came at me next, and although they avoided my bare torso and arms, they eddied around my legs, licking at them both with tongues of fire until I’d fallen to my knees, shrieking.

Right, then.

I kicked off my Docs then, and then pulled down my trousers, until I was standing in the cold air completely naked. The demons came at me several times, each time coming quite close and hurting me, but not so badly as before, then rolling away.

But we were at an impasse. They were unwilling to touch me, but I seemed unable to damage them. The dawn wasn’t so very far off, and at this rate I’d still be there, ready to burn when the sun rose over the Bay. It was bloody cold out as well, and my stupid body started to shiver, a useless habit it should have kicked over a century earlier.

“What the sodding hell do you want, anyhow?” I shouted in frustration.

“Ssssssssannnnctuaaaary,” breathed the wind. The cloud reshaped itself until it was an island, surrounded by turbulent seas. I understood then. The Shmyantik were trying to buy a haven for themselves, perhaps a real island, or perhaps just someplace far from civilization. Far from electricity.

Electricity.

I feinted left, and then dove for the pile of my clothing on the ground. Hastily, I fumbled with my coat pockets. The demons instantly whirled around me, stinging my face and obscuring my vision. Damnit! Somewhere in that duster was—aha! My hand wrapped around smooth plastic and I rolled away just in time to avoid being blinded by a curl of demon smoke. But I was triumphant, because in my hand I had—

Not my mobile phone. That’s what I’d been trying for.

Instead, I was clutching one of the pressies I’d bought at Adam &amp; Steve. It was made of bright red PVC, and it was smooth and slightly heavy in my hand. It about as wide around as two of my fingers, and shaped a bit like a the letter “J”. According to the sign on the display rack, it would stimulate the prostate while also massaging the bollocks.

Luckily, the helpful salesclerk had included the batteries.

The Shmyantik came at me and then surrounded me, and all I saw was churning darkness. I pressed the button on the base of the Anal Pleasure Wand and it whirred to life. As my body was lashed by a hundred small, sharp pains, I thrust the wand into the demons. At first nothing happened, but I moved the thing around blindly. At last I struck something that felt more solid, and there was a flash of light and a high-pitched scream, and the cloud around me was less substantial.

The demons continued to shift around me and I spun and twisted, moving the damn toy about the whole time, trying to find the bits that would destroy the shadows. I was exhausted by the time they were all gone, and sore, and I wanted to go home.

I looked about me. The bums were gone. So was every scrap of my clothes.

The morning traffic was just beginning, a few people honking as they drove by me. The sky was beginning to lighten.

It was nearly a mile to my hotel. I ran, still clutching the wand. I passed a pair of police officers at one point, leaning against the rail and having their morning coffee. They just watched me go by, not trying to stop me.

Along the piers, some of the fishermen were arriving, and some of the workers at the tourist stalls. They all watched. Some clapped and whistled.

When I arrived at the hotel, I came to a panting halt in front of the door. The doorman looked me up and down, poker-faced. “Mr. Harris,” he said. That was the name I used when I booked hotels. I was thankful he’d recognized me.

“Rough night,” I muttered.

He looked at the red plastic in my hands.

“I, erm, lost my room key,” I said. I looked nervously over my shoulder. I could almost feel the sun’s rays hitting my shoulders.

He held the door open for me and led me to the front desk. The bloke there raised his eyebrows and bit at his lip. “Mr. Harris has lost his key,” the doorman said.

“Oh. I’ll, um, get you another, sir.”

He turned away and I saw his shoulders shaking, but when he turned back a few moments later with a new key, he was straight-faced again. “Here you are, sir.”

“Ta.” I took the key and looked at the doorman.

“Anything else, Mr. Harris?”

“No. Thanks. Erm, sorry. Can’t tip you right now.”

His lip quirked. “That’s perfectly all right.”

I heard them laughing as I proceeded down the hall with as much dignity as I could muster.

I rang Xander as soon as I was in my room. Didn’t care who I bloody woke up. My wallet was gone and I hadn’t any other clothing. Xander laughed so hard when I told him what had happened he had to hand the phone to Red and run to the loo to be sick.

I had to spend that day and the following night in my room, nude. I watched more porn on the telly. Then Rupert arranged for a new credit card and new false ID to be delivered, along with several pints of blood and some clothes. Sanjit and Finn showed up at my door to hand the stuff over. Finn couldn’t seem to wipe the smirk off his face so I let the sheet I’d fastened around me drop, and then smirked right back. Sanjit winked at me as they left.

Tourist children stopped being kidnapped in San Francisco. A few weeks later, the police found the empty storefront nearby where the demons had been keeping their victims.

By the time I returned to Seattle, Xan was better. Willow went back to Arizona. Xander insisted on making a special display case for the Anal Pleasure Wand That Saved San Francisco, and it sat over our fireplace for years.

I told Buffy myself about Riley Finn. She bitched for a while—“Does _everyone_ I know turn gay??”—but then had a nice bouquet of flowers delivered to him and his husband.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00058ha6/)

[Chapter Thirteen](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/65526.html)   
  
  
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	13. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 13/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 13/17   
**Chapter Title:** Mermaids   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Top and bottom banners today by the lovely ** [ ](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile) [ **blondebitz** ](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/) **.   
**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00024fcf/)  
---  
  
****

Chapter Thirteen

**Mermaids**

 

Spike slept very little that night. When Angel wasn’t twitching and moaning in his sleep, he was clutching Spike so tightly the smaller vampire couldn’t breathe. But Spike didn’t mind. He was someplace he’d never thought he’d be again—encircled in the strong arms of his grandsire.

When Angel awoke in the morning, he lay very still, staring at Spike with eyes wide with wonder. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice so quiet that Spike barely heard it, even with vampire senses, even from inches away. Spike replied by leaning his forehead against Angel’s, inhaling the air from Angel’s lungs.

Master rose not too much later. He smiled at them sleepily before heading to the loo to piss and wash his face. When he came out he got dressed and stuffed Angel’s new controller in his shirt pocket. “Let’s head home,” he said.

Angel moved like a sleepwalker at Spike’s side as they went across the lawn to the stables. Brady was there to lead Kadir out, and he smiled broadly when he saw Angel. “Sir, is that—“

“Yep. You can tell your mother, and let her know she can come on out tomorrow. Though she’d do it without my permission anyway, I’d bet.”

“She’ll be happy to hear this, sir.”

It was dry and clear this morning and the suns held promise of the warmth to come. Master climbed on his horse and looked down at the vampires. “You up for a run this morning?” he asked.

As Angel frowned in puzzlement, Spike grinned. “Yes, Master.” Kadir seemed excited at the prospect as well, snorting and tossing his head. Spike turned to Angel. “Just keep up,” he said.

They began at a trot, but as soon as the road turned the first corner, Master urged Kadir into a canter. The vampires flanked him, their own feet pounding faster than the horse’s _clop-clop-clop_. They passed the fields where Spike had once labored. Untended, the darkberries had grown wild, the bushes tangled and untamed even this early in the spring. Then Master bent down over Kadir’s neck and whispered in his brown ear, and Kadir sped into a gallop.

The ground rushed by under Spike’s feet and the trees sped by, and if he’d had any breath left he would have whooped with pleasure as he raced the horse. He pulled up slightly ahead of Kadir and glanced over to see Angel abreast of him, his arms and legs mere blurs, an expression of savage concentration on his face.

Spike won the race by a few yards, with Angel in second and Kadir just behind him. Of course, Spike realized he had the advantage over Angel, seeing as he was familiar with the route. Still, it felt good, and he laughed breathlessly as they stood in front of the little house, waiting for Master to dismount. Kadir blew indignantly at Spike but then nuzzled his arm. Spike led him to the creek for a drink, and then tethered him to a tree that stood in a small patch of fresh grass. Angel just stood, panting and swiveling his head to look around him.

Master stayed with them for a while, helping Angel get settled. There were many brief moments of astonishment for the big vampire, such as when he was urged to sit on one of the kitchen chairs. The biggest shock, though, came when Spike brought him a glassful of real blood. “I—I’m not—“ Angel sputtered, nearly the first words he’d spoken all morning.

“Don’t say vamps aren’t allowed, mate. Master won’t want to hear it. Just drink.”

Angel glanced up at Master, who smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead, Angel.”

Spike watched as Angel’s eyes rolled back in his head as the first sip coated his tastebuds. Spike understood. He was still amazed himself, sometimes, that he was permitted something other than the synthetic shite. Angel’s throat worked as he slowly swallowed, and Spike nearly sobbed with the frustration of knowing he’d never be able to bite that inviting expanse of flesh.

When the glass was empty and Spike had rinsed it out, along with his own, Master stood. “Gotta go.” He walked over to Spike, who was leaning against the sink, and kissed his cheek. “Place is all yours for the day. Just clean up before you get in the bed, okay?” He glanced down at Spike’s legs, which were still liberally coated in drying mud.

“Sure, Master.”

“And don’t use up _all_ your energy today. Save some for me.”

Spike crooked his mouth slightly. “Vampire, Master. Have loads of energy.”

Master laughed and kissed him again before leaving.

Angel still sat at the table, looking lost. Spike led him to the bathroom and they showered without touching each other or exchanging more than a word or two. Spike showed Angel where the clean towels were, and where to hang his after he’d dried off. Then they wandered into the living room, and Angel stood and looked out the window toward the stream. Spike was behind him, his eyes trained on the broad back, fingers itching with the need to touch.

The collar, though. The collar made his unbeating heart break.

Without warning, Angel spun around and grabbed Spike’s shoulders, then dove in for a hard, demanding kiss. Angel tasted of cow blood, of course, but underneath that was the familiar flavor of his grandsire, one Spike had never forgotten, not in eight centuries. Spike groaned and pressed the flats of his palms against Angel’s back. Angel was cold and solid and there, truly _there_.

When Angel pulled back he looked deeply into Spike’s eyes. “This is real? We’re here, and we can…we can speak to each other?”

Spike reached up to stroke Angel’s cheek. “Was hoping we could do more than speak, love.” Angel did that impatient eye roll, and Spike crowed with happiness to see that again. “Pet, it’s real. We can speak, and touch, and Christ I want to touch you. And we’ll be together for a while, I expect, until Master tires of us. Or dies.”

“And then what?”

“Dunno. But I never imagined we’d have this again, this…few moments of grace. Let’s enjoy while it lasts, yeah?”

Angel stared at him a moment, unblinking, and then nodded. He grabbed Spike and buried his face against his neck. “God! It’s been so long, Will. So long without you. I couldn’t stand it, but I couldn’t…had no way to end it, either.”

Spike choked back more tears. Sodding weepy vampires. “Don’t talk about it. Won’t help. Come to bed with me, Liam. Let’s see if we can forget everything but each other for a time.”

Angel allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, and he sighed when Spike pushed him down gently onto the bed. His cock was still soft, though, heavy and flaccid between his legs. “Right,” muttered Spike. “I’ll sort that.” He pushed Angel’s knees apart and knelt on the floor between them. There was a small rug here, thick and soft. Master had put it there some years back, specifically to cushion Spike’s knees when they were in this position together. Now, though, it was Angel before him, his own Angel, and Spike closed his eyes in bliss as he nuzzled into the wiry, dark hairs between Angel’s legs. With his nose buried like this, he was enveloped in his grandsire’s scent, which was malty and woodsy like whiskey, and coppery like blood. Spike stuck out his tongue and licked delicately at the juncture between Angel’s leg and torso. Angel let out a loud breath and his cock twitched and began to fill.

It may have been hundreds of years, but Spike hadn’t forgotten what Angel liked. He blew softly onto Angel’s bollocks, watching the dimpled skin tighten and contract as the cool air washed over it. He used his long, strong fingers to massage Angel’s thighs while he redirected his exhales over Angel’s cock, which was now fully erect, the foreskin retracted and the head a deep pink. Angel’s muscles were taut and trembling under Spike’s hands.

“Will,” Angel said hoarsely, and he placed his heavy palms on Spike’s head like a benediction. Spike responded by gently sucking one of Angel’s balls into his mouth, savoring the taste and feel on his tongue. Angel made a strangled sound and Spike released him, only to lick slowly up the underside of Angel’s cock. When he got to the tip, he swirled the tip of his tongue around, tasting salty pre-come, and then engulfed the glans with his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Spike,” Angel groaned, his brogue reappearing a bit as it always did when they shagged. “That’s so good.” Spike moaned his agreement.

Spike worked his mouth up and down, slowly, sometimes taking Angel deep and sometimes just teasing him around the crown. His own cock was throbbing between his legs, untouched, and he was just deciding whether to wank along or to try and confirm his suspicion that he could come merely from giving Angel head when Angel seized his shoulders. “Not gonna last. Wanna see your face, please, baby.”

With only a bit of regret, Spike kissed the wet tip of Angel’s cock and then stood. He knocked Angel backwards so that he was lying on the bed with his feet still on the floor. Then Spike collapsed on top of him. He lined himself up so their groins were nestled against each other and bent his head for a long, thorough snog. Angel cupped his palms on Spike’s arse and squeezed, which encouraged Spike to grind against him more eagerly.

Angel’s tongue had been dancing in Spike’s mouth, seemingly trying to find its way to his tonsils, but now it withdrew and Angel turned his head a bit. “I want you so much,” he whispered in Spike’s ear. “Wanna fuck you hard enough you won’t walk right for a week. Wanna bury myself in you.”

“Can,” Spike panted frantically. “Slick’s in the drawer over there, or do without. Don’t care.”

“Can’t. Chip.”

Spike groaned loudly. Stupid bloody chip. It wouldn’t care that Spike didn’t mind the inevitable small pain of being penetrated, that he welcomed it, even. All that would matter was that a slave was causing another sentient being to hurt, and Angel’s chip would zap him unconscious.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

They both said it at the same time, and they laughed, and that got them past that moment of sorrow so they could concentrate again on the heat they’d created between them. “’S all right,” said Spike, and he leaned up on his right elbow and wrapped his left hand around both of their slippery shafts. He stroked firmly. Angel immediately began writhing beneath him.

Angel’s eyes were closed and his kiss-swollen lips were parted, his head thrown back a bit so that his neck was stretched. Spike had a momentary pang of anguish over his inability to bite, but then he opened his mouth and placed it over Angel’s jugular and sucked instead.

Angel grunted and his hands grasped Spike’s arse almost hard enough to risk the chip, and then Spike’s hand and chest were bathed in Angel’s cool semen. Spike howled against Angel’s smooth skin and he came, too, jerking and spasming atop the larger vampire.

A few moments later, Spike flopped bonelessly onto his back beside Angel. He gazed up at the ceiling, remembering how he’d helped Master set those beams in place. Angel rolled on his side and reached over to stroke Spike’s cheekbones. “I wish you could have bitten me. Fucking chip,” Angel said.

Spike’s jaw worked. “Couldn’t anyhow.” He vamped out and lifted his lips to display his fangless gums.

Angel made a small noise of dismay. “What have they done to you?” he asked sorrowfully.

“Not much they haven’t done to you, I’ll wager.” Spike changed back to his human face.

“But you’re _mine_. You were always supposed to be mine.”

“Always have been, love. Still am. All their bloody bits of plastic couldn’t stop that. I used to think of you, you know. When I was deactivated, or when they’d have me—All the time, pet. Would dream of you and my Xan.”

“Even after all these years?” Angel’s thumb traced Spike’s jawline.

Spike sighed. “Yeah.”

“Even though this Master…. You like it when he touches you, I can tell.”

Spike turned so he was facing Angel. “Yeah, I do. He’s had me for fifteen years, and never once lifted a hand against me. Treated me almost like…like a person. And if you think I won’t respond to that, then you don’t bloody—“

“Spike!” Angel laid a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “I’m not blaming you. I understand. I’ve had Masters…. One of them made me follow him around on hands and knees and wag my ass like a fucking puppy dog, and I did it, and I was _glad_ to do it because it was better than hauling sulfur out of the fucking volcano craters.”

“Oh, love.”

Angel shook his head. “Not trying for pity, here. I’m sure you’ve had to do just as bad. I just wanted to know—here, with this Master, you’re okay, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘m okay. But I’m still his slave and I can’t love him. And I still love you. Pouf.”

 

“I’m getting old, Spike. My joints ache like a bitch.”

“I can give you a massage if you like, Master.”

“That sounds great.” Master peeled off the last of his clothing and looked at the bed.

“Do you, erm, want fresh sheets?” Spike asked.

Master laughed. “I’m glad you two had a nice reunion. No, this is fine.” He collapsed belly first onto the blankets. Spike straddled him and began rubbing at his shoulders while Angel watched uncertainly from the doorway.

“Angel, I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Angel started slightly at being addressed and looked uncertain how to respond.

“I’m getting old—for a human—and honestly, Spike is plenty for me. Might like to watch you two, though,” he added with a chuckle. “But it’s gonna drive me nuts if you’re lurking in the corners and brooding all the time.”

It was lucky that Master couldn’t see Spike’s face, because Spike couldn’t avoid smirking at that.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Angel said.

“Don’t apologize. Just…don’t be jumpy, okay? You’re safe here.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Spike rubbed and prodded Master into a big puddle of goo, and then crawled into bed next to him. With only a bit of urging, Angel climbed in on Spike’s other side.

“Not too squished, Spike?” Master asked.

“No, Master. It’s nice.” And it was. Master’s soft cock was nestled against Spike’s arse, while Angel’s hand rested on Spike’s flank. Rather than feeling overwhelmed by the two big bodies around him, Spike felt cocooned. Safe. Cherished, even.

“Not too worn out for a story, are you?”

“No. I have a good one tonight, Master.”

 

***

 

Buffy was turning forty.

It was a big deal, because, as far as Rupert could tell, no Slayer had ever lived that long. You’d think she’d have been happy about it. Xander was thrilled that he’d be hitting forty that year—he’d never expected to make it half that long. To celebrate we were going to go to the science fiction museum in Seattle and then going to Las Vegas, where he was going to force me to attend shows involving acrobats and magicians.

Buffy, however, was miserable about what she felt was her advancing age. Her friends decided to have a big party, as if that would take her mind off of it. I told them they’d be better off buying her a case of tequila and getting her pissed for a week instead, but nobody listened to me. Somebody—I think it was her husband, a bland, handsome bloke who worshipped the ground she walked on—decided that they would hire a boat for a cruise on the Thames.

I didn’t want to go. Just getting to London was going to be a pain in the arse, and I wasn’t all that anxious to see my old hometown anyhow. And being stuck floating down that dirty old river with a boatload of Slayers sounded like bloody torture to me. But of course Xan had to go, and I didn’t fancy him going anywhere without me, so we went.

When Angel was in charge of those evil lawyers, we got to fly to Italy in a private necrotinted jet. Didn’t much care for flying, actually—kept picturing what might happen to a vampire if the plane dropped like a stone into the North Atlantic—but at least it was fast. Without the jet, the only way for me to get to Europe was by boat.

Xan did the research. He found us a cruise that would take us from New York to Dover. He booked us an inside cabin and found a creative way to smuggle enough blood on board to get me through the journey. We drove to New York and boarded the ship, and the trip wasn’t half bad, actually. Turned out my boy liked to shag at sea, and he had some pirate kinks that I hadn’t previously discovered. He had the patch so he always got to be the pirate, though, which wasn’t bloody fair.

When we arrived in London we rented a small flat in Bloomsbury, not far from where I lived as a human. I hadn’t been back in years and it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. I reckoned time had softened some of the harsher memories. Xan had spent a bit of time in the city, some years earlier, but still I enjoyed dragging him around, showing him some of the sights. One night I showed him the exact spot where I’d died, and he pulled me into an alley and buggered me right and proper, whispering fiercely at me the whole time that I was his, and that he was glad I hadn’t ended up rotting in the ground decades before he was born. It was lovely.

During the day, I slept while Xan and Rupert went shopping, trying to find an appropriate pressie for the Slayer. I suggested a nice new axe, or maybe a pretty sword. But again, they didn’t listen. They ended up with a gift card for bespoke shoes, and that likely would please her as well.

On the evening of the party, Xan and I took a cab to the docks. I couldn’t help but remember the Sex Pistols and their cruise on the Thames, which I had missed because I was in New York at the time. The band they’d hired for this party was dead boring, though. It was cold out—London in January wasn’t an ideal time for a cruise, was it? My teeth were set on edge as soon as we boarded, with Slayers everywhere, glaring at me and looking about them for bits of sharpened wood. Xan noticed, though, and dragged me by the hand to the small stage. He asked the band to stop for a few minutes.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Listen up! This is Spike. Spike is _my_ vampire, and there will be absolutely no staking or other forms of slayage on this boat. Got it, ladies?”

The Slayers grumbled in response, their stares hostile. But then Buffy walked over and put her arm around my waist and faced out at the crowd. “Spike is my friend. And my Champion. Play nice or I’ll kick your asses myself.”

I kissed the top of her head and she squeezed me tightly. It was nice to be called a Champion. I thought of Angel, then. He’d been invited, I was told, but declined to attend. Couldn’t blame him. He didn’t have a boyfriend who’d insisted.

In any case, after that things were more comfortable. Most of the Slayers just stayed away. The nibblet and I hadn’t seen one another in years, and Xan and I sat down with her and had a nice long natter. She was living in Florence, where she ran an art gallery. Took after her mum, I expect. She was happy, dating three different men and with no plans to settle down any time soon.

Xan got up to go get us fresh drinks, and Dawn and I were so deep in conversation about synthetism and its relationship to neo-impressionism that I didn’t notice at first that my boy was gone a long time. Finally I did, though, and I looked about me in puzzlement.

“What’s the matter, Spike?” Dawn asked. “You’re looking all nervy now.”

“Wondering where Xander’s gone off to.”

“Probably dancing with a pretty girl,” she teased.

“Oi! He’s given all that up for the gorgeous vampire.”

She patted my hand. “I don’t blame him one bit. But if he changes his mind, I’ve been waiting for you for twenty years.” She quirked a crooked smile at me.

“Oh, you have all those blokes already, love.”

“Yeah, but you were my first crush.”

“’M a hard act to follow.”

“You’re one of a kind.”

I stood and bent to kiss her cheek. “Going to find my boy now. Keep him out of trouble.”

I couldn’t find him.

He wasn’t dancing, he wasn’t at the bar. He wasn’t in the head. He wasn’t up on deck, where Rupert was standing, all bundled up against the cold and looking suddenly old. He wasn’t on the bottom level, either, where Red and her girl were cuddled up in a seat together, snogging. He wasn’t in the galley, nicking food. And he wasn’t on the bridge, where the captain was drinking coffee and chatting about footie with the first mate. I tried to ring him, but only got his voicemail.

The more I looked, the more frantic I got. Soon Buffy and Rupert and Red and the bit had joined the search, and then everyone else did as well. But there was no sign of him. My boy was not on board the boat.

Buffy and one or two of the others had to physically restrain me from jumping overboard to look for him. It would have been hopeless anyhow. We might have left him miles behind. The captain got on the radio and called the authorities, while Giles pulled out his mobile phone and rang some of his cronies at the Watcher’s Council. The witch said she’d do a tracking spell as soon as she could get at the ingredients she needed.

As we returned to the dock, Buffy held me. “He’ll be fine,” she said. “He’s a good swimmer, you know. He was on the swim team.”

I turned and looked at her skeptically. “He didn’t go for a bloody dip, now, did he? Something’s happened to him.”

She sighed. “He’ll be fine. I promise.”

Our boat docked at Tower Pier. Buffy and most of the Slayers fanned out to search the riverbanks and interrogate demons. Rupert headed back to Watchers Council headquarters, where he had a small flat, and where he planned to do some research of his own. Red and her girl, Sophie, insisted I take the Tube with them to their hotel room in Knightsbridge. It was probably a good idea—I’d have gone mad alone in our temporary flat.

Up in their room, Red pulled a small suitcase out of the closet, and she and Sophie immediately began arranging bits of dried herbs and candles and such. I stood along one wall, fretfully redialing Xander’s number. Soon, Sophie spread a large map of London out on the floor and sat next to it. They began chanting and lighting flames and whispering at each other.

“This can’t be right!” Willow exclaimed, peering at the map. I lurched over and looked over her shoulder. A tiny, red light was glowing, so bright it hurt my eyes to look at it. It was close to Greenwich, where we’d passed earlier that night. It was in the middle of the river.

I must have made an anguished sound, because Red turned and looked up at me. “Spike, this spell doesn’t work unless the person is alive.”

“How can he be alive in the bloody Thames? It’s been hours, and that water is cold, and—“

“I don’t know. But I’m sure he’s alive.”

She took the map with her and we rushed out of the hotel. We quickly found a cab, and the driver wasn’t best pleased to be driving us to Greenwich this late, but Red muttered something at him in Latin and he was suddenly much more amenable. While we raced through near-empty streets, the three of us rang everyone else, telling them to meet us on the riverbank.

We were the first to arrive. The cab dumped us off and sped away as Red clutched her map and looked out at the dark water. “He has to be very close,” she said.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing.

“What?” She stared in the right direction, but her human eyes likely could make out very little.

“Strange metal…things. Half a dozen or so.” They were about 200 yards downstream, and they spanned the water.

“The Thames Barrier!” Sophie cried.

“What’s that?”

“I thought you were a Londoner,” she replied. Sophie was from Manchester.

“Haven’t lived here since the nineteenth century, love, and those things were definitely not here then.”

“It’s a flood control thing. I’m not sure how it works. It has gates or something.”

“Red, is he there?”

“Maybe…” she said doubtfully.

But that was enough for me. I shucked my duster and boots and dove in. Dimly, I heard voices shouting from the banks. I wasn’t a great swimmer, but then I didn’t need to breathe, so that was a help. With the water flowing my way, it didn’t take me long to reach the things. They were bigger than they’d looked from shore. I grabbed a bit of metal that was jutting from the one in the center, and I called Xander’s name. There was no response.

The things were like islands. I swam around the one, having more difficulty when I had to go upstream, but didn’t see Xander. So then I went to the next one over. Still no luck. As I rounded the third one, though, I saw something clinging to a ladder, down near the water line. I got there as fast as I could.

It was Xander. He was naked, slumped against the metal rungs, his eyepatch gone. His arms were twined around the metal bars, and the water came to his knees. He didn’t appear to be conscious, but, with enormous relief, I realized I could hear him breathing, hear his heart still pounding in his chest.

Awkwardly, I managed to disentangle him and sling him over my shoulder. He was cold and sodden. I considered trying to swim to shore with him, but just then I felt a burning fire on my back. Christ. The sun was rising.

With no other choice, I hauled him up the ladder with me. When I got to the top, I glanced quickly at the south bank, where a small crowd of people had gathered. “Oi!” I shouted, loud as I could. “Found him! Send help now!”

My hair was beginning to scorch. I looked around frantically, and saw that some metal beams provided a bit of shelter, and there was a door underneath them. Xander still over my shoulder—and, fortunately, providing some sun protection to a good part of my body—I ran into the shadow.

The door was steel and securely locked. I tried kicking it open, but it wouldn’t budge. I’d be safe for a bit, but Xan was chilled through, and the only thing I had to cover him was my own soaked clothing. Couldn’t even offer him any body heat; after my little dip, I was as cold as the Thames itself.

Trapped and unable to do anything more but wait, I sat and pillowed Xander’s head in my lap. His lips were blue and he was trembling violently. But his eyelids fluttered open. “Mermaids,” he mumbled, before they shut again.

It was a very long fifteen minutes or so before rescue arrived, in the form of a small boat someone had conjured or commandeered. Buffy and another Slayer, a tiny bint with nearly blue-black skin, climbed the ladder and made their way to us. Buffy’s face was pale and worried. “He needs to get warm,” I said.

“On it.” She and the other Slayer gathered my boy in their arms. “Stay there,” she ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

I did not want to stay there while they took him away. But I didn’t have any choice. They must have managed to get him down the ladder—I couldn’t see from my angle—because I heard more excited voices from the boat. And only a few moments later, Buffy reappeared with a strained smile and a canvas tarp. “Willow’s got a warming spell going already,” she said, handing me the fabric.

It was difficult to climb down with the canvas wrapped around me, and I was still smoking slightly when I made it to the boat. I wanted to hold Xander, but Red and several others were clustered around him, and Buffy shoved me into the small, covered cabin.

By the time we made it to the pier, Xander was thrashing about and calling my name. I was calling back, and Buffy had to hold me tight to keep me from going to his side. But Rupert and Willow decided that he wasn’t badly hurt, just exhausted and hypothermic. It was decided that the best course of action was to take him back to our flat.

Rupert still had his ridiculous Mini, but, luckily, one of the Slayers had driven there in her Ford. They bundled Xan into the backseat, with Red there with him. I made a run for the car under that tarp, and managed to make it into the boot without bursting into flames.

Several hours later, Xander was warm and dry in our bed, and we’d both had a bit of a kip, and everyone else had gone home, demanding that we ring with the full story that afternoon. Xan rolled slowly over in bed and smiled sleepily at me. “My hero,” he said.

“I had help.”

“Yeah, but you fished me out of that river.”

“What the bloody hell happened, pet?”

“I went to get us those drinks. But then I thought I heard you calling me from the top deck.”

“Wasn’t me. I was still below deck with the bit.”

“Yeah, but it sounded just like you. ‘Oi, Xander! Come here!’ Crystal clear, and kind of upset. So I ran up the stairs, but there was nobody up there. Too cold. I was gonna give it up, but then I heard you again, and this time it sounded like you were in the water. I was trying to figure out how you could have fallen overboard. I went to the railing and looked down. And then something jumped up out of the water, something really big, and it grabbed me and dragged me over before I could make a peep.”

It was making my stomach knot just to hear it, even though he was safe now with my arm slung around his waist.

“This thing dragged me under the water—it had arms and hands, so I knew it wasn’t just a really big fish, or, like, Jaws—and I tried to get away, but it was strong. It carried me down and then I think there were others. I couldn’t see anything. They ripped my clothes off. And just when I was sure I was gonna drown, they shoved me into this big sort of bubble thing. I pounded on it but it was too hard, I couldn’t get out. It had air inside, though. Wonderful, beautiful air.

“I could just barely see anything, but there were a bunch of these things pressing up against the bubble and staring at me. They had tails like a fish, but their upper bodies looked more human, with those arms instead of fins. Scales, though. And their faces were…I dunno. Big and round and flat, with huge eyes, and big blubbery lips, and no noses. And these whisker things, like a catfish. Long, seaweedy hair.”

“Acmaseus,” I interjected.

“Huh?”

“Demons, love. They’re called Acmaseus. I’ve met up with them a few times. Dru had a fling with one, once, actually. But I’ve never heard of them inland before.”

“I thought they were mermaids,” he said.

“Yeah. They are, really. They lure sailors to death with the voices of their loved ones.”

“I thought mermaids sang.”

“Not these lot.”

Xan leaned forward and kissed my nose. “You’re my loved one.”

And I couldn’t help but smile at him.

“What were they going to do with me, Spike?”

“Well, usually they eat their prey right away. But they can also turn humans, just like vamps can. They don’t do it often, though.”

Xan frowned thoughtfully. “Well, after a while, they opened a hole in the bubble somehow. The water started to wash in, and then one of them grabbed me. It, uh, it was female, I guess.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“It had boobs.”

Oh. “I think it wanted you as a mate, Xan.”

He swore. “Eww. Goddamn demon magnet. Never fails.”

“Are you sorry you attract demons, pet?”

“I only want one demon, thank you very much. And you’re a hell of a lot cuter than those guys.”

“How’d you get away?”

“She opened her mouth, and she had all these tiny sharp teeth, like a piranha. But I got in a really good kick, and headed for the surface. I almost made it, too, but one of them grabbed my ankle, and I was sure that was it. And then something else grabbed me by my biceps, and yanked me up so fast the mermaid demon lost its grip. I was still struggling, but whatever had me dragged me along, and then I was hanging onto that ladder, and it let go of me. I got just a glimpse of it before I passed out.”

“Yeah?”

“It was a guy, sort of. Skinny, with these huge wings.”

Bloody hell. “What color was his hair, Xan?”

“I dunno. Shiny. He was sparkly. And he smelled good.”

“Fairy.”

“You’re hardly one to talk, Spike,” Xander said, palming my cock.

“Berk! I meant it was a fairy that saved you.”

“Oh. I thought fairies were little tiny things.”

“Nah.”

“Why would a fairy save me?”

“I think…. I did a good turn for one, a few years back. Perhaps he or one of his friends was paying me back. I expect they might know you’re mine.”

“Oh,” he said again. “Well, he waved a finger at me before he disappeared. That was a really weird night, Spike.”

I snuggled closer to him. “Buffy’s birthdays never do turn out well.”

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000523g8/)

[Chapter Fourteen](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/65909.html)   
  
  
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	14. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 14/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 14/17   
**Chapter Title:** Dying   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Today's banner by [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/). And another surprise guest in today's story! :-)**

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000507sr/)  
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****

 

Chapter Fourteen

**Dying**

 

“Turn off that music or I’m gonna start singing along with it.”

“Oi! Listened to three hours of bleeding Rachmaninov yesterday. You can manage a bit of Joe Strummer.”

“I’m warning you, boy, if I hear _London Burning_ one more time—“ Angel yelped slightly as Miss Dovett slapped the back of his head.

“That’s enough!” she scolded. “You had your turn yesterday. Leave Spike alone.”

Spike smirked and turned up the volume. Miss Dovett liked him better. Oh, she fussed plenty over Angel as well, but she always took Spike’s side when they argued.

She visited often now. She couldn’t get about very well anymore, but Brady or, more often, his teenage son Galen, would bring her over in the little horse-drawn cart Angel had built her. She’d spend an hour or two sitting at the kitchen table, drinking the tea Spike made, gossiping about her family or listening to music with them. It passed the time for all three of them. If the weather was really miserable, Brady or Galen would stay in the house with them. Otherwise, they’d wander the woods or fish in the stream until it was time to go.

This afternoon, as usual, Spike began preparing Master’s dinner soon after they left. Angel remained at the table, sketching Spike as he worked, unconsciously humming along with The Clash under his breath.

“Spike?”

“Yeah, pet?” Spike chopped a carrot into coin-shaped slices.

“He’s sick, isn’t he?”

Spike sighed. This truth had been unspoken between the three of them for months. Years, really, since Spike saw the first early symptoms of the disease. They’d been lucky—Master was one of the few in whom Bends progressed very slowly. Now, though, his limp and awkward movements were unmistakable, and he was struggling more every day to hide his pain. The evening before, he’d actually fallen as he was walking to the bathroom. Spike and Angel had helped him up, and he’d pretended it was because he’d had too much to drink, but he wasn’t fooling any of them.

“How much longer you think we have?”

“Dunno.” Spike turned from the sink to look at Angel, who was staring morosely at his drawing. “If he lets us care for him here, perhaps three or four years.”

“I’m not gonna let them take you to the mines. Or anywhere else. I’ll dust you first.”

“Ta, love. But the chip, remember?”

“I’ll find a way. Or…do you suppose Master would dust us both? Or get Brady to do it, maybe?”

Spike frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps. Want me to ask him tonight?”

“Yeah. Let’s…let’s get him in a good mood, first.”

Spike leered slightly and then turned back to the counter. For the most part, putting Master “in a good mood” nowadays meant Spike and Angel having a long, slow shag while Master watched. There had been times, some years ago, when both of them would take Spike at once, Angel in his mouth and Master in his arse, and that had been lovely. Master was rarely inclined to participate anymore, and Spike was surprised to find that that disappointed him, in part because Angel couldn’t penetrate him. But still, it was always nice to shag Angel, and knowing they had an appreciative audience tended to turn him on even more.

Master came dragging in a short time later. He collapsed in a kitchen chair and Angel helped him off with his boots, then brought him a bowl of water and a towel to wash his hands with. It was easier on his legs than if he had to stand at the sink. He liked company when he ate, so after Spike placed Master’s dish on the table, Angel and Spike joined him for their evening blood.

Master’s face was still tanned, but now it was deeply lined from exposure to the suns. His hair had gone completely white but was as thick as ever. He was lean now, his muscles beginning to waste away. When he smiled at Spike, his teeth were white and strong. “Dovett came over today?”

“Yes, Master. Galen brought her. She brought some biscuits for you. The kind you like, with the nuts.”

“Did she tell you Brady’s about to get promoted to head groom?”

Spike grinned. “Only about a dozen times.”

“He’s a good man. Steady. Really cares about the horses.” He took a long gulp of the beer Spike had set out for him. “This is really good, Spike. What’d you put on the chicken?”

“Miss Dovett brought me some herbs as well.” He didn’t tell Master that the herbs were meant to ease joint pain a bit. Enough that Master liked the taste.

“Silvus has decided to try farming darkberries again.” Silvus was Master’s oldest brother, who’d headed the family since their father died.

Master must have seen the expression on Spike’s face. “Don’t worry. You’re not going out into that damn field again. Besides, Silvus has ordered a whole shipload of slaves for the job. They should arrive in a couple months, just in time to get that field cleared. Nobody’s touched it in years. Looks like a goddamn jungle.”

Spike nodded and sipped at his blood, remembering vividly what it had felt like to work silently under the hot suns all day, and then lie paralyzed in the slave quarters all night. He couldn’t bear going back to that, or worse. Couldn’t bear being separated from Angel again.

Master glanced up at Spike’s and Angel’s faces and pushed away his plate of half-eaten food. He rubbed his face with his gnarled fingers and sighed. “We need to talk,” he said.

Spike put his own mug down. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I have Bends. You haven’t mentioned it, neither of you, but I know you’ve noticed, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” Spike whispered. Apparently this conversation was not going to be able to wait until after sex.

“I’ve been thinking for a long time about what to do with you two. I won’t…. I can’t stand to think of you being harmed. I’ve seen the mines. I know what they’re like.” His gaze moved restlessly around the room, from the vampires before him to the wooden walls Spike had helped him erect; from the food on his plate to Angel’s sketches, a dozen of which Master had pinned to the kitchen walls. “I thought about giving you to Dovett, or Brady, more like. He’d be kind to you. But he doesn’t have much room in his crowded little house, and I don’t know what his wife would make of the whole situation. She hates vamps.”

Spike and Angel nodded at this. They’d heard as much, both from Miss Dovett and from Brady. She was apparently a nice enough bird otherwise.

“And Rake is off in Wilsonville most of the time. He’s been saying he’s going to board the next starship and never come back to this place. Well, he’s been saying that a long while, but maybe this time he means it.”

He picked up his fork and toyed with it. “Sarla and my own kids—no. There’s no place for you at the ranch. Fuck. There’s no place for you anywhere but here.” He buried his face in his hands and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Angel cleared his throat. “Master,” he said.

Master looked up at him.

“Spike and I…we can take care of you. We know how.”

Spike nodded his agreement. “Cared for Dru for years, remember. And she was high maintenance.”

Master smiled. He’d heard a lot of Dru stories over the years.

Angel continued, “But when…when it’s time…dust us. Please, Master.”

Master looked startled. “Dust you? You can live forever and you want to die?”

“Without you and Angel, yes, Master,” Spike said. “I’d rather face hell than go on.”

“Are you sure you’ll go to hell, Spike?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked that question.

Spike shrugged. “I’ve done a lot of awful things, Master.”

Angel shook his head. “Not half as many as I did. And you did a lot of good. Saved the world.” He grinned slightly, and so did Spike, both of them remembering an argument from centuries ago.

Master tapped his palm on the table. “I don’t think either of you deserves to go to hell. You’ve pretty much been there already, for the last eight hundred years, haven’t you? You both deserve to go someplace where you can have…peace. And love. And I’ll do what I can to make sure you get there.”

Spike scrambled off his chair and knelt at Master’s side. Angel quickly followed. Master looked shocked—neither had been on their knees before him in years. But Spike grasped one of Master’s twisted hands and kissed the back of it. “Thank you, Master. Thank you.”

Master was bemused as Angel followed Spike’s lead. Then he bent and pressed his lips to Spike’s forehead, turned, and did the same to Angel. “I’d have had a pretty miserable life without you,” Master said. “Stuck here on this stupid nowhere planet. But I feel like I’ve been all those places you’ve told me about, Spike, like I’ve met all those people. Like I’ve lived a real _life_.” He smiled wryly. “Even if it was a vampire’s unlife.”

Master took a deep breath and stood. “Enough of this morbidity. I promise I’ll look out for you two. Now,” he smiled. “How about we go to bed?”

 

They didn’t go to bed, though, at least not at first. Instead, they all had a nice long bath together, with Spike scrubbing Master and then Angel, and Angel scrubbing Spike. Master stayed in the water while the vampires dried off, and then rubbed scented oil over one another. Spike shivered at the touch of his grandsire’s strong fingers, at the cool puffs of air that floated over his skin when Angel bent and oiled Spike’s buttocks. Master told them to coat each other’s cocks as well, and they did, their slippery palms gliding over shafts already hard and needy.

“Inside, too, Spike,” Master said slightly hoarsely.

Spike looked at him in surprise, but then hurried to comply. It had been a long while since he’d been properly buggered. He and Angel could manage quite a lot together, and it was always lovely, but he did miss the feeling of being stretched and filled.

As the others watched avidly, Spike poured a few drops of oil on his right palm, and then wrapped that palm around two fingers of his left hand, coating them in the light scent of coconut. He decided to take it slow, to put on a little show. He lifted one foot up and rested it on the edge of the bath, so that his bobbing, glistening cock was fully displayed to his Master and his lover. Teasing himself as much as them, he placed his hand between his legs and then brushed his fingers gently over his eager pucker. He didn’t go in, no, not yet. Only traced little circles around the edge while his other hand crept up his belly to his chest, and he fondled his left nipple.

All three of them were panting heavily, the sound echoing off the hard edges of the marble, when Spike decided he couldn’t stand it any longer. He slipped his middle finger inside. His breath caught for a moment as he breached himself, and then he was in, probing delicately, crooking his joint a bit until he moaned and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Angel was just standing there, his arms motionless at his sides, but his eyes were dark and glittering. He moaned back, a deep, growling sound that sent a thrill down Spike’s spine.

Spike realized that if he didn’t hurry things along, he might come now, as much from the weight of the gazes upon him as from the touch of his hands. He pressed the second finger inside. He gasped quietly and allowed his head to loll back between his shoulders as he thrust his fingers in and out.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Angel under his breath, and then looked guiltily at Master. But Master was too engrossed to notice, or to care.

Spike rocked his hips and inhaled deeply, trying with only some success to maintain control. A thick stream of pre-come leaked from his cock. It added to the general torment as he felt it slowly drip down his shaft. “Master,” he choked, as he felt his balls tighten.

“Stop,” said Master, softly but firmly. Master stood and Spike stepped back so Angel could help him out of the bath. Spike toweled him off. Master gestured them to follow him into the bedroom. He pointed at the bed. “Be right back. Brought a present today.”

Spike and Angel looked at each other in puzzlement as Master padded slowly into the living room, favoring his left leg. Master’s cock was at half-mast, though, and that was something that hadn’t happened in some time. Spike heard the rustle of leather and fabric, and then Master was back, carrying something in his hand.

With a broad smile, he walked over and then held the thing out for Spike. “Thought you might like this,” he said.

Spike took it. It was…a dildo. It was a finely made thing, created out of heavy, smoked glass. It had glass bollocks at its base and was realistic, if slightly generous, in its shape and proportions. Spike looked up at Master in surprise. He’d seen very few sex toys on this planet. Didn’t fit well with the inhabitants’ generally spare lives.

“There’s a guy in Wilsonville who makes these. I had to trade him that new colt Kadir sired, but I think it’s worth it, don’t you?”

“It’s lovely, Master. Thank you.”

Master stroked Spike’s face with his palm. “No. Lovely is going to be watching you use it.” He turned to Angel. “Please go get that oil.”

Spike chortled when Angel practically flew to the bathroom and back, the little bottle clutched in his hand. At Master’s direction, they settled themselves on the big bed: Spike on his back with his knees bent and spread, Angel straddling Spike’s head and facing toward his feet. Master arranged himself alongside them and fingered Spike’s nipple. Spike was so sensitized already that the touch made him arch his back and whimper.

Angel carefully poured some of the oil onto the toy and set the bottle aside. Then he handed the glass rod to Spike, his face clearly expressing his wish to be able to insert it himself. He had to watch instead, as Spike positioned the phallus between his legs and pressed the bulbous head against his ready hole. The glass was cool, like Angel, and Spike considered closing his eyes and pretending it _was_ Angel. But as he slowly pushed it inside, Master told Angel to touch himself, and that was good, too, seeing Angel stroking his rigid organ just inches over Spike’s face, seeing Angel’s long-unviolated sphincter twitch so enticingly above him.

Spike slowly worked the toy inside himself and then let out a long, breathy moan when it was fully seated.

“Fuck yourself with it,” Master ordered quietly. Spike didn’t have to be told twice. He canted his hips and thrust the dildo in and out, angling it so that every stroke sent little sparks into his balls and cock. It did hurt, a little, but that was good too, and the burning bit of pressure added to the wave of sensations across his body.

“Kneel down a little, Angel,” said Master. Angel did, and Spike eagerly lifted his head and stuck out his tongue. The clean, musky flesh gave a bit under his probing. The slap, slap of Angel’s hand against his fist was loud in his ears, and Spike realized without surprise that he was thrusting his tongue and the toy to the same rhythm.

But then Master reached over and, without stopping the not-quite gentle rolling of Spike’s nipple between his finger and thumb, grasped Spike’s throbbing, aching cock. Spike finally did lose control, lost all sense of where his body was and what it was doing, really, and he writhed and thrashed and bucked his hips. He came, falling apart into a million thrumming, blissful pieces, and barely even noticing when Angel’s cold spunk splashed over his chest and stomach.

It took a long time for his shaking to stop, during which Angel settled in beside him, and somebody took the glass rod from his lax fingers, and somebody stroked his hip while somebody else nuzzled under his jaw. And still his skin tingled and flashed, even as his lungs slowed and his eyes regained their focus.

Angel bent his head then, and licked his own semen off of Spike’s cooling body, as Master gave Spike his fingers to suckle so that he tasted himself. He was hard—still or again, he wasn’t sure—and Master and Angel watched him as he slowly wanked himself to a second shuddering climax.

“That colt—that was the best trade I ever made,” Master chuckled against him. Angel made a sound of agreement. “Is your mouth still working?”

“Barely, Master.” Truly, it was difficult to speak, as if his muscles had all melted.

“A story?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Gonna tell you tonight about a vamp who chose final death.”

 

***

 

“How could you let it happen?!” The snarling face in front of mine was pale and fangy and, sadly, familiar.

I considered standing and fighting him, but decided I was too pissed for either. So I took another swig from my bottle of JD. The fire of the liquor in my throat was never enough; never, never enough.

“Le’ wha’ happen?” I slurred.

“You let him die!” he spat.

I hadn’t any idea what he was going on about. “Let loads of people die, mate. Who do you mean?”

“My manservant.”

I shook my head at him. “Who?”

“Xander Harris!”

Just like that I was sober, remembering the time Xander had spent with the wanker. I leapt to my feet and grabbed his poncy shirt in my hand. “Xander was _mine_ and you’d best not forget it,” I growled.

He grabbed the lapels of my duster and shouted, “He was mine first!”

I was about to yell a retort—or maybe just rip the twat’s head off—when the bouncer appeared. He was a Chorago demon, must have weighed seven hundred if he weighed a pound. He put a huge, blue hand on each of our chests. “Take it outside, guys,” he rumbled. Even furious, I had the good sense to listen. I loosened my grip on my opponent, and he let go of me.

“I’ll play nice,” I muttered.

“As will I.”

With a final, threatening frown, the Chorago stomped away. I collapsed back into my seat and then waved at the chair opposite. “Might as well,” I said.

He gathered his cape in his arm—his cape! Poufy git—and sat.

“So,” I said. “Can I buy you a drink, Drac?”

He frowned at my bottle. “I prefer red wine,” he said.

“Yeah, well, the stuff they have here is probably shite.”

He sighed. “Fine. Pour.”

I waved at the bartender, who brought a couple of glasses over. I filled them both to the brim and then shot mine back in one go. Dracula sipped at his more cautiously.

“What are you doing in this dive, anyhow? It doesn’t seem like your type of place.”

“I came searching for you. I was told you had been seen in this establishment.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I expect I was. And you came all the way to Seattle to yell at me?” I refilled my glass.

“I heard about my man—about Xander. I had to ask you. How could you allow him to die?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t allow him to do anything, mate. An Amntan broke his back.” It had been over a year, and I could almost say it without my voice shaking.

“I heard you were together for some time. Why didn’t you turn him?”

I slammed back another drink. “Wouldn’t let me.”

He opened his mouth and then shut it. He shook his head, sadly. “He was an exceptionally stubborn person.”

“That he was, mate, that he was.”

“But you cared for him, no?”

“Look, Xan may have been your manservant for a time”—Xan had told me about that, about the two times he had spent time with Dracula, although they’d never quite shagged—“but he was the bloody love of my unlife. Got it?”

He narrowed his eyes at me for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. I do believe you are capable of such a love.”

“Bloody right, I am. Now, you’ve said your piece, and you can toddle on back to whatever Eastern European backwoods you crawled out of. Could pay me my eleven quid first, though.”

“I would like to see where he is buried.”

I considered this. I never could stand this pillock, but Xander could. Xan said Drac had treated him well, treated him with some respect once or twice at a time when nobody else did. He didn’t even resent the thrall, although he hadn’t been too keen on the bug eating.

“All right,” I said.

Dracula didn’t have a car. Of course. He was more the horseback or chauffeur-driven limo type. I don’t know how he got to that demon bar. Maybe he just wafted over as demonic smoke. We climbed into my ‘Cuda, and I noticed with satisfaction that he clung grimly to the door as I drove home in my usual manner.

Dracula scowled at me as I parked in front on my house by the Sound. “This is not a cemetery!” he said.

“Never said I buried him in a cemetery, mate.” Xan and I had discussed our plans, should either of us kick it. I was easy, of course—if I’d gone first, Xan would have been left with nothing but a worthless pile of dust. He told me he didn’t care what happened to his body, once he’d stopped using it. I couldn’t disagree. I knew as well as anyone that unless it was a vampire, a corpse was nothing but an empty shell. After I’d drained him, though, I couldn’t abide the thought of handing what was left of him over to a bunch of strangers who would wonder at his blood loss and then want to pump him full of chemicals. And as much time as he’d spent in graveyards when he was alive, I didn’t fancy the idea of him spending eternity in one.

I got out of the car and Dracula followed me into the ever-present drizzle. My boots crunched on the gravel drive, and then my footfalls grew softer as they were cushioned in moss. I walked around the house, under the dripping trees, and back into the woods. I stopped after a hundred yards or so and pointed to a spot under a particularly large fir tree. The ground there was already covered in fallen needles and spotted with new ferns.

“There is no stone?” Dracula asked, looking around.

“Don’t bloody need one, do I? I know where he is. Didn’t mean this to be a sodding tourist attraction.”

“His friends did not mind?”

“His friends are scattered all over Europe.” Besides, they had better remembrances of him than his grave. Every year since he turned thirty, he’d written each of them a letter, to be given to them in the event he died before his next birthday. I’d posted the thick packets to each of them, and had to listen to each of them cry on the phone after they’d read them. Even Rupert.

Dracula nodded. He got down on one knee atop the little mound and bowed his head. I went a few steps away and turned my back to him, instead looking up and letting rain fall down my face like tears.

Eventually there was a slight rustling, and then Dracula was standing close behind me. “Thank you,” he said. I inclined my head once, and then stalked back to the house with him in my wake.

It was a bit awkward when we arrived at the drive. “I shall telephone my servant to come collect me. Might I ask you to relay directions to him?”

I sighed. “Don’t be daft. It’s nearly dawn. Come inside and have a drink. I might even have some wine.”

He looked surprised, but also pleased. “Thank you. That would be pleasant.”

Inside, I turned on a couple lights and took off my duster and muddy boots. He hung his cape on the coat rack near the front door and then wandered slowly around, peering at my books and Xander’s action figures—he always pouted spectacularly if I called them dolls—and other trinkets, which I hadn’t had the heart to get rid of. He seemed puzzled by the Anal Pleasure Wand That Saved San Francisco. “This house is very small but agreeable,” Drac announced.

“Xan built it,” I muttered, and then ducked into the kitchen to find drinks.

When I came back to the living room, he was staring at the photo of me and Xan that was propped on the mantel. It had been taken by a professional photographer—quite a famous one, actually—whom we’d saved from a Thraxos demon. We were both naked, although we were posed in such a way that none of the naughty bits were showing. Xan was sitting with his knees drawn up. I was behind him, my legs on either side of him, my arms around his shoulders and my hands clasped in front of his neck. We were meant to be serious, but Xander had just said something that set us both to laughing. Our heads were thrown back and our eyes wrinkled shut.

“How is this possible?” Dracula asked.

“What?”

“The photograph. How is it that you, a vampire, are depicted in this photograph?”

“Digital camera, mate. It works, somehow. Dunno how.” He looked distressed, perhaps regretting never having had his own picture taken with Xan. I had to admit, they’d have looked pretty together, both muscular and dark-haired, but Xander browned from the sun and Dracula pale as milk.

“Here,” I said. “Have some of this. Think you’ll fancy it.”

He turned and took the wine glass and open bottle from my hands, and then smiled broadly when he read the label. “Egri Bikavér!” he exclaimed. “Why is it that you have this wine?”

“Have some fond memories from Budapest. I like to relive them a bit, now and then.”

He filled his glass, set it on a shelf, and then, at my nod, poured some wine into mine. Then he lifted his glass again. “Egészségére!” I said, and he nodded regally before taking a sip.

“This is excellent,” he proclaimed. “I drank Egri Bikavér at the Siege of Eger, before we trounced the nefarious Turkish hordes.”

“Brilliant,” I muttered. “Let’s sit, all right?”

We settled in my comfortable leather chairs, and then it occurred to me that Dracula might be hungry. I didn’t want him hunting in my territory, but it didn’t seem cricket to dust the tosser after I’d had him over for drinks. “Do you fancy some blood as well? I have cow—not bull—and also a bit of human, I think.” I mostly drank from the butcher shop then, but had a few sources who sold me blood bank rejects and the like.

“No, thank you. I fed from one of my servants earlier this evening.”

Drac was an odd sort, I thought as I sipped at my wine. Only unsouled vamp I ever met who liked human company more than I did. Always taking up with Gypsies and his manservants and all. In fact, from what I’d heard he’d been a worse terror as a human than as a demon. And then there was all that fawning around he’d done in the nineteenth century, telling vampire secrets—and inventing more—to any bloody hack who’d listen. Enjoyed the attention, I expect. That’s what comes of turning the nobility.

“I have been told that you voluntarily accepted a soul.”

“Didn’t _accept_ anything. I fought for the bloody thing.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

I laughed, slightly bitterly. “For love. Always was love’s bitch.”

“For Xander?” he asked, puzzled.

“No. This was before him. This was for…for the Slayer.” I may have mumbled that last bit.

His impressive eyebrows rose. “You were in love with a Slayer? Which one?”

“Buffy.”

“Ah. Much as I loathe her, I do admit there’s something about her….”

I had an evil impulse. “She has a thing for vamps, you know. Maybe you ought to look her up.”

But he shook his head. “No. No, I am afraid the time for such things has passed. I have planned to greet the sunrise, now that I have paid my final respects to Xander.”

That announcement shocked me so much I thought perhaps I’d misheard. “Say again, mate?”

He sighed and drained his glass before refilling it. “I am weary. The world has passed me by. I no longer have the desire to keep up with it. I cannot even frighten people properly any longer, not when they are already so frightened by human-created horrors such as plagues and climate change and nuclear war.”

“Could always fight on the other side. There are always demons to kill.”

He shook his head again. “No. I have considered that possibility. But it has been some time since I have had the aspiration to do battle. At one time I could content myself with my human…acquaintances. But Xander’s death has reminded me how pitifully short their lifespans are, and then I am once again left with nothing.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance, although the same thoughts had been going through my head recently. “So take up with a vampire. Or create your own.”

“Relationships between immortals rarely work out successfully. As you are well aware,” he added with a meaningful look.

I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Dru or Angel, but either way, I frowned. But then I sighed, because I knew he was right. “Been thinking along the same lines myself, lately,” I said softly.

“You have been contemplating suicide?” he asked.

“Yeah.” The only thing that had stopped me was the probability that I wouldn’t end up wherever Xan had gone, no matter what he’d said to the contrary. Well, that and the knowledge that it would leave Angel finally all alone in the world.

“But you’re hardly more than a fledgling!” Dracula exclaimed.

I snorted. “I’m 175, mate.”

“Pshaw. I have walked this earth for eight hundred years.” He had such a poncy way of saying things like that, it made me want to smack him. “I suspect you have much to experience, yet.”

“Yeah. Death. Loss. Pain. Loneliness. I reckon I’ll experience plenty of those.”

“Most likely. But are there not things that you still enjoy?” He looked at me pointedly then, a slight smirk on his face, and I was suddenly aware that he was a beautiful creature. He had full lips and a patrician nose and dark, piercing eyes.

For a moment I simply looked back at him, thinking. Finally, I said, “I haven’t enjoyed those things since Xan died.”

“Over a year is a very long time for a vampire to abstain from such pleasures,” he observed.

I sighed. “Too right.”

With an air of decision, he set his empty glass on the side table. “Then I have a proposal for you, Spike.”

“Oh?”

“I very much wish to experience carnal desires one last time before I depart this plane. And I would be delighted if I were able to do so with such an attractive specimen as yourself.”

Right. He was a nancy-boy and a sod…but he was there, just a few feet away, and he was pretty, and he was willing. I put my own glass down and stood, then began to unbutton my shirt.

He followed suit. He was wearing a lot more layers of clothes than I was, so it took him longer, but soon we were both completely naked, gazing at each other. He was incredibly pale, even for a vamp. Maybe it was his advanced age, or the contrast with the black hair on his head and chest and groin. Maybe he’d even been exceptionally fair as a human. He was a few inches taller than I, and lean, with sinewy arms and legs and rather prominent ribs. His cock was pale as well, and already erect, long and slender.

“Delicious,” he said, looking me up and down. I curled my tongue behind my teeth. And then, almost simultaneously, we vamped out. It was odd—usually, older vamps became more and more demonic-looking, like that twat of a great-great-grandsire, the Master. Drac still looked fairly human, though, and his gameface wasn’t much different to his human one. Just…toothier.

Suddenly, I desperately needed those teeth in me, and perhaps he had the same thought, because we rapidly closed the small space between us and clashed into a hard and vicious kiss. Our fangs sliced into one another’s tongues and lips, filling our mouths with our mingled blood and the taste of red wine. It was intoxicating.

We never made it to the bed. That was just as well—I’m not sure I would have wanted him in the bed I’d shared with Xander. In any case, he pushed me to the floor and I let myself fall onto the plush oriental carpet. He landed on top me, cold and hard and smelling of smoke and forests.

We resumed our kiss; at the same time our hands wandered over each other’s bodies, stroking and kneading and pinching. I hadn’t shagged another vamp since Dru, and the only male vamp I’d ever had was Angelus, that one time. He felt new and different and exciting, and it didn’t hurt one bit that every time we broke our mouths apart for a moment, he let flow a long string of filthy words in every language I knew, and a good number I didn’t.

I cursed nearly as well myself when he suddenly sat up and, without any preparation or warning, grabbed my cock and then…well…impaled himself on it.

Perhaps he reckoned that ancient vampires don’t need slick, or perhaps he just fancied the pain. He screamed and so did I, because he was so tight around me, and cool, and I could feel blood seeping from his torn tissues. Holy Christ, it felt good. It felt even better when he undulated atop me, creating lovely friction, and I put my hand up to squeeze at his bollocks and rub my thumb against his slippery glans. His lips pulled back from his fangs and he was the very picture of savage joy.

It took very little time before I was on the brink of climax. He was as well, judging from the way his movements had grown erratic, and the way his cock pulsed and twitched in my hand. He looked down at me with his feral eyes and, in the strangely courtly way he had, asked, “May I?”

In answer, I tilted my head to the side.

With another cry he bent down and struck at my carotid. That did it for me. I howled and jittered beneath him as if I were struck by an electrical current, and I pumped my release deep inside him. He came, too, seconds later, still riding me like a bucking bull.

We were both worn out, afterward, as if we’d been in a bloody good brawl. I let him clean up in my shower and then I did the same. Neither of us bothered dressing. And although it was well past sunrise and we’d had some excitement, neither of us was inclined to go to sleep. We lay curled up on the soft couch instead, talking of our respective adventures. Sometimes we’d doze for a bit, but never for long.

Come nightfall we put on our clothing and went for a long tromp in the woods, avoiding the place where Xander’s body lay. We flushed a few animals—a coyote, a raccoon, a doe—but let each of them go, unharmed, after we’d caught it. We weren’t hungry.

Eventually we made our way back to my house, and this time we showered together. We didn’t shag, not really, but we leisurely explored one another’s bodies with hands and tongues until the water ran cold. Again we collapsed onto the couch, nude.

I found another bottle of Egri Bikavér and we drank it, and followed with a bottle of sweet, potent Tokaji. Having emptied my wine cellar of Hungarian varieties, we turned then to some 18-year-old Johnnie Walker. We didn’t get drunk, but then we weren’t trying to.

About fifteen minutes before dawn, Dracula stroked my chest—he was lying behind me on the couch—and said quietly, “May I welcome the sun here, in front of your home?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “All right.”

We rose and walked slowly to the door. Xan had built a wide front porch, mostly so that I could safely sit back in the shadows when I felt like it, so I wouldn’t be quite so confined indoors during the day. Now Dracula and I stepped onto the porch, and we could just make out the morning’s first rays sparkling on the Sound.

Drac turned and cupped my face in his long, thin hands. “Thank you, Spike. I have enjoyed our time together.” He bent for a copper-tasting kiss, and then said, with a small smile, “I believe you’ll find that money I owe you in my trousers pockets.”

I stroked his back. “We’ll call it even, yeah?”

He chuckled softly against me.

“You’re sure you won’t reconsider?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “No. I am quite certain this is the correct decision. And you?”

“I’m going to stick around a bit longer. See if there might still be one or two things I enjoy.”

He smiled and petted my cheek. “I am delighted to hear that, Spike. I wish you an interesting journey.”

One last time, we kissed, slow and sweet. Then, as I remained close to the door, he walked across the splintery porch, and down the three steps, then he glided across my front lawn until he stood at the edge of the small stone cliff that led down to the water. He turned so that he was facing east. He kept his eyes open as he lifted his face upward. His mouth opened in a broad, easy smile, and for just that moment, I could see the man he had been, so long ago. As the first light hit him he spread his arms and he glowed golden before he began to smoke and flame.

And then he was gone.

 

[Chapter Fifteen](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/66302.html)  
 


	15. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 15/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 15/17   
**Chapter Title:** Plans and Prophecies   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Today's banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/), and the bottom art kindly lent by [](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/profile)[**katekat1010**](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/). And another surprise guest in today's story! :-)**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00028pd8/)  
---  
  
****

 

Chapter Fifteen

**Plans and Prophecies**

 

Spike almost cried when Brady came and took Kadir away. Riding seemed so essential to the man that Master was, and now he would never ride again. Master himself refused to let the vampires take him outside to say farewell to his horse. He remained propped up in a chair instead, his jaw set against his constant pain, his twisted limbs covered in a soft blanket.

Spike knelt at Master’s side, stroking his gnarled arm. “Can I do anything for you, Master? Anything I can get you?”

“No. I…. Wait. There is one thing. Run after Brady and tell him I’ll want to see him and Rake next week. Monday morning.”

“Yes, Master,” Spike said. He sped through the door, past Angel, who was standing there looking puzzled and concerned, and down the path. Brady was just around the nearest bend, leading Kadir rather than riding him.

“Sir!” Spike called, and Brady stopped and turned.

“Is something the matter?”

“No. But Master wants me to ask you and Mr. Rake to come talk to him on Monday.”

“What about?”

I shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

Brady nodded slowly and solemnly. “Okay. We’ll be there.” Spike gave Kadir a last pat on the nose and then watched them walk away.

Master had held up amazingly well under his disease, clearly trying to remain active as long as he could. But then Miss Dovett had died a few months ago—suddenly, in her sleep—and he had insisted on attending the funeral. The vampires hadn’t been able to go, of course, which grieved them both. They had both grown very fond of her over the years. Traveling there alone, plus all the standing during the ceremony, and perhaps even the fact of her death itself, had taken a serious toll on Master’s health. That was the last time he had left his little house in the woods.

Spike was grateful that he and Angel were permitted to care for Master, instead of him being taken to the big house or, even worse, to Sarla’s ranch. Master said he’d already said his goodbyes to his wife and children, none of whom he’d ever been close with. Nearly every day, Brady or Galen came by with food and medicines for Master and blood for the vampires, and so they had been able to nurse him well. He was irritable, however, his only remaining joys being to watch Spike and Angel together, and to listen to more of Spike’s tales.

 

Spike had been to Wilsonville only three times before: once when he first arrived on this planet, scared and miserable, and two more times when he was sold at auction. It made him nervous. Nervous enough that Brady actually had to use the controller to lightly zap him and get his attention. When Spike turned and looked at Brady, Brady looked apologetic. “You have to look where you’re going, Spike,” he whispered. “You almost pulled the cart into a wall back there.”

Spike looked at Master, who was cocooned in thick blankets inside the cart, and at Angel, who was lashed to the other side of the cart’s shaft, glowering at him. “Sorry,” Spike mumbled. He began pulling again, this time paying better attention.

He wasn’t used to crowds like this—humans everywhere, scurrying around, or standing and examining the goods displayed at the many stalls. There were occasional vampires as well, mostly pulling wagons like he and Angel were, but a few appeared to be pleasure slaves, oiled and hauled along by leashes. Sometimes they even wore jewels on their collars.

Brady directed them down winding, dusty streets, where the cobblestones felt alien under Spike’s feet. They passed a wide open area with a raised wooden stage at one end and rows of mostly empty cages on either side. Spike recognized this as the slave market, and he couldn’t help but shiver. The humiliations he’d always suffered in these places flashed through his mind, as well as the fear and the sick uncertainty of not knowing who would buy him or to what use he would be put next.

He calmed a bit as they continued past the market, down a side street, almost to another familiar place. The space port. Even over the tops of the buildings he could see that the enormous dock lay empty now, waiting for the next ship to arrive with its cargo of slaves and metals and small luxuries.

Brady stopped them in front of a small two-story building with slightly weathered siding and a cheery yellow door flanked by pots of bright flowers. He knocked and a tall, gray-haired woman in her sixties opened the door. “Ah, you’ve arrived!” she said, clapping her hands.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right, all right, come on in then.”

At Brady’s command, Angel lifted Master out of the cart and carried him to the door. The woman had to formally invite him inside so he could carry Master in. Meanwhile, Spike gathered together the bags that Brady had stuffed in alongside Master. He’d discovered during their journey here that some of them contained food and camping supplies for the humans, as well as synthetic blood for the vampires. Brady had apologized, but there had been no way to keep the real stuff fresh over the three days it had taken to slowly make their way here. Spike had no idea what was packed in the other bags.

The woman invited him inside as well, and he followed Brady in. He found himself in a small parlor, furnished sparely but attractively, with comfortable-looking furniture and a few bright paintings on the walls. Angel had already settled Master on a sofa. Master looked awful, his face gray with pain. The trip had been torture for him, and for the thousandth time Spike wondered what the hell had brought them here.

Brady left for a few moments, to stow the cart behind the house, he said, and the woman puttered around in the kitchen while they waited. When Brady returned, she twittered at him, telling him of the food she’d stocked the cupboards with, and where he could find blankets and towels, and, seemingly, a million other details. Finally, though, she curtsied slightly in Master’s direction and left.

“Angel. There should be a bed for me in the next room. I need to rest.”

Angel lifted Master back into his strong arms. “Would you like me to bathe you, Master?” he asked.

“Yes. Just a towel bath, though. The rest of you can have proper showers after. Spike, please help Brady unpack.”

Angel carried Master away while Spike and Brady tucked the remaining foodstuffs into kitchen cupboards. Master and Brady had some dirty clothes, and Spike set those aside to wash later. The final few bags, though, remained unopened, tucked beside a chair in the living room. “Mr. Tane will explain later,” Brady said.

It ended up being much later—the next morning, in fact—because Master fell into a deep sleep and remained there until breakfast. Brady slept upstairs, while the vampires slept on the floor beside Master, not wanting to disturb him by shifting around in bed. When he awoke at last, Spike and Angel assisted him with his toilet. He’d stopped being embarrassed about that some weeks past, apparently. Angel wrapped him in blankets and took him to the sofa again, where Spike helped him eat some eggs and toast. Master was just finishing up when there was a knock on the door. Brady opened the door and let Rake in.

The vampires had met Rake a few times over the years, although of course they’d heard all about him from Miss Dovett. Unlike Brady, who was short and slightly round and favored their mother, Rake must have taken after their father, whom Spike and Angel had never seen. Rake was taller and whip-thin, with sandy, curly hair and green eyes. Also unlike Brady, who had a perpetual grin, Rake’s face seemed set in a scowl. It belied his true nature, which was as kind as Brady’s and Miss Dovett’s, if somewhat less docile.

Rake had left the farm when he was young to work at the port. His true dream was to fly on a ship himself, to leave this planet and explore the galaxy and never come back. But he’d never quite managed it, and instead he helped fix any mechanical problems with the ships when they arrived. In the months between ships he kept the dock in good working order and did various other odd jobs around the city.

Now, Rake nodded at Spike and Angel and greeted Master. “Hello, Mr. Tane. Rough journey?”

“Yes. But at least it’s the last time,” Master replied.

“Have you told them?”

“No. I was just about to.”

Spike’s stomach clenched in fear. Told what? Why couldn’t Master simply dust them? Well, no use fretting about it when Master himself was about to tell them.

Spike and Angel sat on the floor facing Master, their backs against one of the chairs and their shoulders touching. Spike wished they could have held hands for comfort; Angel looked as tense as Spike felt.

Master cleared his throat and sat up a bit. “I’ve had enough, boys,” he said to Spike and Angel, who were a millennium his senior. “It hurts all the time, and I can’t _do_ anything. It’s time.”

Spike and Angel exchanged a quick glance.

“I don’t want to die like my sister did, inch by fucking inch. Too sick even to scream at the end. I want…I want to die quickly. Now.” He looked at them, his gaze intent and almost feverish. “I want you to drain me.”

Spike was so taken aback he could only gape like a fish. It was Angel who found his voice first. “But…we can’t, Master. We—“

“I know. The chips. Rake?”

Spike and Angel both swiveled their necks toward Rake, who was leaning against a wall. “I’m gonna disable the chips, guys.”

“You’re…_what_ now?” Spike’s head was spinning.

“I have access to the databases from the ships that dock here. They have information on how to shut off the chips. I guess it’s necessary, every once in a while. The chip’ll malfunction, get stuck on. The vamp’s stuck in constant agony.” Spike and Angel both shuddered at the thought. “So either they dust the vamp—and that means a loss of profit—or they turn the chip off completely until they get into port and find someone to replace it. We got a guy here who does that. Nasty bastard.”

“You’re….” Spike shook his head to clear it. “You’re going to turn the chips off, and then you want us to kill you, Master?”

Master nodded. “It’s not a bad way to go, is it?”

“Not…. It can be nice, if the vampire wants.”

“I’ve been wondering for a long time what it’s like.”

“But…but….” Spike found himself sputtering like a motorboat.

“Listen up,” Master said. “I have more to say. Rake can only turn off the chips in your heads. The ones in your arms, the ones they can use to track you, those’ll have to be physically removed. You’ll heal pretty quick from that, though, what with my blood in you. Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but—“

Rake interrupted him. “Day after tomorrow, a ship’s gonna arrive in port. We’re going to wait until everything’s unloaded. The ship’ll just sit there, then, being cleaned and serviced. Only a few crewmembers stay on board. You guys are going to get on the ship with me. Nobody will think much of that—they use slaves all the time to scrub things down and reconfigure the cargo holds.” Rake paused and smiled broadly. “And then we’re going to lift off.”

“We’re _what_?” This time it was Angel who sounded incredulous.

“I know how to fly them—they’re mostly automated anyway.”

“You’re going to nick a spaceship??” Perhaps this was all some strange dream, and he’d wake up soon, back in Master’s little house. Or perhaps he’d been hallucinating all of this while he lay deactivated, somewhere in storage.

But it certainly felt real when Rake crouched next to him and set a callused hand on his shoulder. “_We’re_ going to nick a spaceship, Spike. They can’t catch us—there’s no way for them to chase us.”

“Where will we go?” asked Angel.

Rake shrugged. “Away. Out. We can’t head toward the center of the galaxy, because then we might be captured. You’d just end up as slaves again, and me—did you know shipjacking’s a capital offense? They’d have me turned.”

“Fuck!” said Spike.

“Yeah. Besides, I wanna see what’s out there. Go where nobody’s ever been.” Spike had a sudden flashback to Xander and his science fiction shows, and let out a bark of hysterical laughter. Rake patted his shoulder. “Look, I don’t know what’s out there. Maybe just a whole lot of nothing. But I’m forty-three years old. I figure I’ve got a few more decades in me to explore. And you guys—you have forever, don’t you? And even an eternity on a spaceship is better than the alternatives, I think.”

Spike heard Angel swallow thickly beside him. “Do you mean…we’ll be free?”

Master said, “As free as I can get you.”

For the first time, Brady spoke up from his perch on a small, high-backed chair. “And you’ll get to stay together.”

Spike couldn’t help it. He knew it was weak and pathetic and stupid, but he started crying uncontrollably. Big, gasping, nancy sobs. Angel wrapped his arms around him and Spike practically crawled into his lap so he could hide his face against his grandsire’s chest.

By the time he’d calmed down again, Brady and Rake had gone to the kitchen to discuss the details of the plan. Angel had climbed into a big chair and taken Spike with him, so now Spike really was cradled in Angel’s lap, his face all tearstained and snotty. But Angel had got a towel somehow, and he was using it to gently wipe Spike clean. “Sorry,” Spike mumbled, more mortified than he’d been in centuries.

Angel leaned his head against Spike’s. “It’s okay. It’s…it’s a lot to process.” Spike noticed then that Angel’s voice was thick and hoarse, and his eyes suspiciously red.

Spike turned and looked at Master, who was watching them. Master’s face was serene, more at peace than it had been in a very long time, despite the pain that still showed in his eyes. “Master? Why are you doing this?”

Master smiled. “Because I love you, of course. Should have done it a long time ago. But I was too selfish. Couldn’t stand the thought of not having you.”

Spike blinked at him for a moment. Then he climbed off of Angel’s lap and walked across the room to Master. He crouched down and—of his own accord, without having been asked to do so or having been given permission—he gave Master a long, gentle kiss. Master patted Spike’s arse. Awkwardly, because his hands didn’t work well anymore. Spike moved his lips slightly and whispered in Master’s ear: “Thank you, Master. Thank you.”

Master sighed and then shooed Spike away. Spike looked at Angel, still slumped in his chair, and plopped himself back in his grandsire’s lap. He felt comfortable there.

Master’s voice was quiet but steady. “How about one last story?”

 

***

 

“Why are you here?”

“Don’t fancy my company, Percy?”

He turned and gave me that look he had, the serious, piercing one. “I mean _here_, Los Angeles.”

“Oi, Watcher. Might want to try watching the road. They drive on the right here, you know.”

He made an irritated sound but he did look at where the Firebird was pointed, instead of at me. “Why haven’t you moved on? You can, you know, now that you’re corporeal again.”

“Yeah, Einstein. Figured that out when I went to Italy, didn’t I? The world’s my bloody oyster, innit?”

“So?” He pulled into an empty car park and stopped the car in the center of it. “This should be the place,” he muttered to himself.

We both got out of the car and then stood near the bonnet, looking about. There was nothing much to see. A few tall streetlights. The hulking building that once housed an electronics store, before it went out of business. Off at one edge, a raised section of freeway with a few cars rushing by. I leaned against the car and pulled out a cigarette. As I lit it, Wesley leaned next to me, his arms crossed on his chest.

“I’m here because it’s fun to annoy the pouf. Entertains me.”

He shook his head. “No. That’s not it. You could bother him without getting involved in his business. As you are right now, helping out with these Hcuorgs. Are you still hoping the Shanshu prophecy is about you?”

I took a long drag and blew it out. “No, mate. If it was, I reckon it’d come true no matter where I was. But it’s all a load of rubbish anyhow.”

“Then why?” He turned and looked at me, and I could tell that for some reason, this was truly eating at him. He really wanted to know. Trouble was, I wasn’t sure I knew the answer myself.

“Dunno,” I finally said. “Don’t really have anyplace else to go. And I like to keep busy. What else am I going to do? Take up golfing? Read the situations vacant? ‘Wanted: Souled vampire, must know how to save the world, experience with resurrection a plus, ex bens, sal negot.’”

Wes frowned. “No, what I meant was—“

Just then, a black Lexus pulled into the lot and came to a halt about fifty feet away from us. Wes and I stood up straight and watched as the doors opened and four demons piled out. They were short and squat and wearing ugly suits that didn’t fit properly. All the bits that weren’t covered by fabric had scraggly greenish fur. Their mouths were large and their eyes big and bulbous.

They sauntered over and looked us up and down. As they got nearer, I got a good whiff of them. They reeked like a dustbin in summer. But without noses, I expected they couldn’t realize how horrible they smelled.

One of them stepped a bit in front of the others. “You have the talisman, humans?” His voice was deep and rough.

“Oi! Not human here.”

The demon gave me a filthy glare. “Half-breed.”

I thought about kicking its furry arse. But we’d come on a mission, and it wasn’t completed yet. Wesley reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small blue box, the type that a jeweler might put a ring in. He opened it and flashed the contents quickly at the demons before closing it. I’d seen the thing before; it was a small tin cylinder about the size and shape of the top joint of my little finger. Wasn’t very impressive to me, but it certainly got the Hcuorgs all excited. They huddled together, rumbling animatedly at one another.

Then the one in charge turned back to us. “Hand it over,” he demanded.

“Not yet,” Wes said, the box wrapped firmly in one palm. “You have an item for us as well, I believe.”

The demon glowered, but then stuck his paw out behind him. One of the others ruffled around a bit in the car, and then produced a long, pale tube. He handed it to his boss. “Here,” the Hcuorg said. “Scroll of Lupercus. Now, gimme the talisman.”

“Not yet. Show me that you have brought the correct item.”

The demon snarled, but then it unrolled the thing in its hands and held it up so we could see. Wes squinted at it.

“Spike, I can’t quite make it out. Can you manage to read the first few lines, please?”

The light was a bit dim and the scroll rather far even for me, but I could just see the words. “It’s in Latin. _De salvator mortuus. Certum est, quia impossibile. Veniet daemon bonus_—“

“Right. That’s quite enough. Thank you.”

“What’s this about good demons?”

He gave me an impatient look. “I shall explain later.” Then he held his empty hand toward the Hcuorg. “I shall take the scroll now.”

The demon laughed, a nasty sound. “I don’t think so. Talisman first.”

“I appears we have arrived at an impasse. Perhaps we should—“

“Oh, there’s no impasse, human!” The demon shouted something in its own language, and then several things happened at once. The three other demons surged toward us, each of them waving a long, wicked-looking knife. The fourth one, the one who held the scroll, stepped back. Wes shoved the box in his pocket, thrust his hands into the rear of his waistband, and pulled out a pair of squirt guns. Apparently, bullets had about as much effect on these blokes as they did on me, but human urine was quite toxic. I don’t know whether Wes had prepared the pistols himself, but they were both full.

I wasn’t armed with anything but my hands, feet, and teeth, but generally those did a good job at discouraging unfriendly sorts.

Wes started squirting away, the beasties came at us with those blades flashing in the streetlights, and I vamped out. Within a split second, I had a mouthful of roaring, horrible-tasting Hcuorg. The demons were screeching, a sound like boulders rubbing together.

I had ripped the head off of one of them and was working on a second, and Wes was holding off the third with a single pistol. But then I saw that the fourth one was scrambling to get into the Lexus. “Wes!” I shouted. “It’s getting away! I’ll take these two.”

Wes kicked out, propelling his demon toward me, and, serendipitously, his demon collided with mine, sending them both tumbling to the ground. I caught a brief glimpse of Wesley running after the one with the scroll, and then I launched myself onto the others before they could get up.

It wasn’t long before all four of the Hcuorgs were dead. Wesley was leaning against the Lexus, bent nearly double as he tried to catch his breath. I could smell his blood. I had a few slashes myself, including one cut on my right bicep that went to the bone. But I was more concerned with trying not to retch from the awful goo in my mouth, or the vile slime that liberally coated my body.

I called out, “All right?”

“Yes. You?”

“I’ll live. Oh, wait. I won’t.” I looked down at my ruined duster, and then tore it off in disgust and threw it on the ground, thankful that that Italian bint had sent me ten of them. “That scroll had better be worth it, Percy.”

“I think it is.”

It turned out Wes had only a few shallow cuts. Nothing serious, although the scent of his blood made my stomach growl. I hadn’t had human in some time. I tore off a few ungunked strips of my shirt and used them to bind the wound on my arm and the worst of Wesley’s slices. Then we climbed into the Firebird. Got the interior filthy, of course, but I didn’t care. It was Peaches’s car.

We didn’t say anything as Wesley drove us back, but soon he pulled up in front of an apartment building I didn’t recognize. “My flat,” he explained. “I’d like to change before I head back to the office to examine the scroll. Would you like to come in and wash up?”

I was going to need more than a simple washing up, but anything would be an improvement, and my flat and the office were both some distance away. “All right,” I said.

I followed him inside, where the lobby attendant didn’t even raise an eyebrow at our appearance. I expect he’d seen it before. We took the lift to the eighth floor and Wesley invited me inside. It was a nice place, full of books, of course, but more modern in its décor than I would have guessed.

Wesley pointed. “Guest shower’s that way. There are towels in there.” He cocked his head and looked at my clothes. “Would you care to borrow some clean clothing?”

“God, yes.” I couldn’t get the shite off of me soon enough.

He limped off toward his bedroom and, presumably, the other bathroom. I walked through what I reckon was meant to be a guest room, but which he seemed to be using to store books and various magicky-looking things. The bathroom was small, but adequate. I peeled off my clothes and shoved them in the rubbish bin, and then luxuriated in a long, hot shower. His flat had much better water pressure than my miserable cave.

Finally I emerged, feeling immensely better, and wrapped a burgundy-colored towel around my hips. I flung the bathroom door open to discover him standing there holding a small pile of fabric. His hair was still wet, but he was wearing a navy t-shirt and jeans.

“Oh! Erm…here.” He shoved the clothing at me. When I reached for it, the towel fell off me. Wesley turned a rather appealing shade of red, but he didn’t look away. Interesting.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to have a drink, I think, before we go. Would you like one?”

“Ta.”

He walked away and I pulled on the white t-shirt he’d brought me, which was only slightly too large, and the jeans, which were much too long. I sighed slightly and rolled up the cuffs. The waist was a bit big as well, but I was able to salvage my belt from the rubbish, and use it to cinch the jeans tight. I tugged my Docs on. They’d escaped mostly unscathed.

Wesley was waiting for me with a tumbler. “Ice?” he asked.

“Nah.” He filled the glass from a decanter and handed it to me. It was good stuff.

“I suppose I shouldn’t drink any,” he said, looking at his own glass. “We shall have to take the bike if we don’t want more slime on ourselves.”

“Drink up. I’ll pilot the bike for you.” He looked at me skeptically. “Vampire, right? A few drinks won’t matter.”

He shrugged and then gulped a mouthful. Then he wandered over to sit on his sofa, and he gestured at me to join him. About then I realized my fags were still in my coat, sitting in that car park, and I swore at myself. But I collapsed next to him.

“Is your arm all right?” he asked.

“Yeah. A bit of a feed and it’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“That scroll—“

“Yes, yes. It’s another prophecy.” He glanced over at the small table near his door, and I saw that the scroll was there.

“What sort of prophecy?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in them. ‘A load of rubbish,’ I believe you called them.”

“I did, and they are.” I sipped at my drink for a moment. “But I still want to know what it says.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s over two thousand years old, originally, although this particular copy was made in the thirteenth century. It’s about a dead savior—“

“Yeah, yeah, I read that much, didn’t I? I know Latin, Head Boy.”

“I hadn’t meant to imply that you didn’t. If you’ll only let me explain—The Scroll claims that a vampire, a good demon, will save the world. And then he will have an incredibly long journey—I believe the scroll gives some details, but I haven’t read that bit yet—and he will at last achieve _pax_, _amor_, and _felicitas_.”

“More of that redemption bollocks, then.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t say anything about atonement or redemption, Spike. Only that the demon shall attain his _votum pectoris_.”

“His heart’s wish?” I scoffed. “My heart’s dead, mate. It can’t wish for anything.”

He gave me a look that nearly made it seem as if he could read my soul. “I doubt that very much. Your heart may not beat, but I believe it still desires a great deal.”

I worked my jaw and looked away. “Well, nobody gives a flying fuck about a demon’s wishes anyhow.”

“I doubt that as well.”

We were both quiet for a long time after that, just sipping at our drinks. He poured us more when our glasses were empty. He broke the silence at last by saying, “Spike? Do you think Angel…well, do you think he’s still fighting for good?”

It was a question I’d mulled over myself, of late. “You think he’s been sucked in by the power and the money?”

“Perhaps.”

“That’s why Wolfram and Hart stuck him in that office to begin with, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“He does fancy his posh clothing and expensive cars. But no. I don’t think he’s been corrupted. He might have got lost a bit, wandered a way off the path. But he’s still heading in the right direction.”

“You trust him, then?”

I tilted my head back against the cushions. “Look, I know what he’s done. To all of you—the bit with your memories, and…that’s horrible. And I know better than anyone that Angelus is always a lot closer to the surface than he’d ever admit.” I looked Wesley in the eyes. “But yeah. I trust him.”

He nodded. Took a sip. “Do you love him?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. Thought for a moment. “He’s my grandsire. You were a Watcher, I’m sure you’ve read all about vampire relationships in your bloody books.”

“I have. And I know vampires generally feel a certain allegiance toward their sires. Devotion, sometimes. But you and Angel…that’s something different, isn’t it?”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “Can’t stand the pillock.”

“And that’s why you’ve remained here, fighting at his side.”

I couldn’t answer that in a way that made sense to either of us, so I didn’t try. But then I had a sudden notion. “You’re here as well. Even after what he’s done to you. And it isn’t because of Fre—Blue either, is it?”

He looked away uncomfortably.

“Bloody hell! You fancy Angel.” I put my glass down on the table and turned my whole body toward him as I said this.

“No, I don’t! I—“ He swallowed the rest of his drink all at once. “Christ,” he said, and hung his head.

“I won’t say anything to him. Twat’s head’s already big enough as it is.”

He looked up at me, his expression pained. “Angel and I, we’ve never…never _done_ anything. I’m certain he’s never thought of me that way.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Believe me. Peaches thinks of _everyone_ that way. He certainly hasn’t missed a handsome bloke like you. But he’d never act on it. It’s part of his martyr thing. An indiscretion with a Slayer aside—and look where that got him!—he can only shag monsters. But it’s a paradox, see? He’ll shag monsters, but he’ll never love us. Them.” I sighed. “Whatever.”

Wesley gave me another of those long, acute stares. “You’re not a monster, Spike,” he said, and he put his hand on my knee.

Neither one of us was truly what the other wanted, and we both knew it. But neither of us could have what we wanted—our sodding heart’s wish—and he was there, and I was there. He put down his glass and we snogged on the sofa, both of our mouths tasting of his good whiskey. And soon after that my belt was loosened and my borrowed trousers were puddled around my ankles because I couldn’t be arsed to take off my boots. He unfastened his flies and found some slick somewhere. Then he bent me over the couch and gave me a bloody good rogering. Slapped my arse nicely while he did, called me filthy names. I’d always suspected he had it in him.

And then when I’d come all over the fabric of his couch, and he’d pounded and then released inside me, he spun me around and fell on his knees, and he sucked another climax out of me. I’d rather suspected he had _that_ in him as well.

He fetched towels and we wiped ourselves off and then got dressed again. We had another drink, companionably silent. And then we hopped on his bike and I took us to the office. I could have nicked one of Angel’s cars and driven myself home. The Viper was parked in the garage. But it was nearly dawn, so instead I let myself into his office and curled up on his couch. I wondered if he’d smell Wesley on me when Angel came down in the morning.

I do believe I can say with some authority that I am the only vampire in history who has shagged a Slayer _and_ two Watchers.

Things got very interesting very fast after that. Wes and I never had another real chance to talk. Or do anything else. Within days, we’d all decided to believe in Angel. And then Wesley was dead, and, shortly after, so was everybody else. I don’t know whether he ever had the chance to finish reading that scroll. I certainly never learned what the rest of it said.

And I still don’t believe in prophecies.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00059gr0/)

 

[Chapter Sixteen](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/66514.html)   
  
  
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	16. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Scheherazade, Chapter 16/17**_  
**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 16/17   
**Chapter Title:** On Board   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Today's banner by [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/).   
And here we are at the penultimate chapter!!**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0004xe0g/)  
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****

 

Chapter Sixteen

**On Board**

 

“You’re certain of this, Master?”

“For the hundredth time, yes! Never been more sure of anything in my life. If the chip was still working I’d _order_ you to drain me. And call me Tane. You’re not my slave anymore. Not anyone’s slave.”

A shiver went up Spike’s spine at these words. “All right, all right.” Spike smoothed back the man’s hair, still so thick, even if it was now snow white. “It’ll have to be Angel, though.”

“I was hoping you both would. Aren’t you anxious to bite into your first human in over eight hundred years?” Tane sounded slightly offended.

Spike petted his hair again. “There’s nothing I’d like more. But I’m missing the necessary equipment, remember?”

“Oh. Your fangs.” Tane stared at him sorrowfully and Spike had to look away. The loss still grieved him, still made him feel emasculated. “I suppose your regular teeth wouldn’t work.”

“That would hurt you.”

“I can…bite twice, if you want,” Angel said softly. “Once the veins are opened, Spike wouldn’t need fangs anyway.”

Tane laughed weakly. “This is more complicated than I’d imagined. But okay, that’ll be fine.”

Spike gave Angel a grateful glance. He really did want to feed, not only because he wanted human blood, but also because it would somehow give him the feeling that he was carrying a bit of Tane with him. It was why he’d drained Xan when he was dying. He knew a few human societies had once cannibalized their dead relatives for the same reason.

There was a slight rattle of something from the next room, and Spike knew that was Rake packing up some gear Tane had brought him. Brady had already tearfully taken his leave of all of them two days ago, sadly pulling the empty cart back home. Rake had paid Tane his last respects as well and now wanted to give the three of them some privacy.

“Thank you, Spike, for all you’ve given me, all you’ve done for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t better to you. I should have found a way to free you long ago, I should have—“

“It’s all right. You gave me everything, didn’t you?” Spike glanced toward Angel when he said this, and then at the plaster on his bicep, where the chip had been. “You’re a good man, Tane.”

“As are you, Spike. Angel, you and Spike take good care of each other, okay?”

Angel nodded gravely. “We will.”

“Maybe someday you’ll tell someone stories about me, huh? Keep me alive, just liked you’ve done with your friends from Earth.”

“I will,” said Spike.

Tane smiled. “I do love you, you know.” He sighed. “Let’s do this.”

It was physically a bit awkward to manage. Spike and Angel climbed into bed with him, Spike on his right and Angel on his left. They both vamped out, Angel because he had to, and Spike because it didn’t seem right to feed like this with his human face. Tane stared in wonder at them and then smiled.

Angel propped himself up and leaned over, and then pierced the right side of Tane’s neck with his fangs. The scent of blood was instant and enthralling. Angel groaned loudly and his entire body shivered. Tane moaned as well, but not as if he was in pain. Spike had to shove Angel hard to remind him to move. When Angel lifted his head, his mouth was crimson and he looked as feral as Angelus ever had. But then he shook his head slightly and collapsed back onto Tane’s left side.

He probably bit again and began to feed, but Spike didn’t notice and didn’t care, because he’d already fastened his mouth around the first wound and begun to suck. When the flavor of human blood reached his tongue he nearly fainted from the sensation. Cow blood had been infinitely better than the slave feed, but _this_, oh this…. How could he have forgotten how exquisite this taste was? How magnificent it felt to have the hot, coppery fluid flow down his throat? How vitalizing it was to feel life pumping into him, filling him with every beat of a human’s heart?

Tane moaned again, more weakly, and his body jerked. The smell of semen filled Spike’s nostrils and he knew that the man had climaxed. A vampire’s victims often did, if the vampire was gentle about it. All the borrowed blood seemed to be flowing to Spike’s cock and he was bloody close to coming himself. As was Angel, judging by the sounds he was making.

Tane’s body stilled and his pulse began to founder. It didn’t take long for two vampires to drain one human. With a final soft exhale, Tane died.

Spike and Angel continued to drink until there was nothing left. Then they raised their bloodstained faces and looked at one another.

What happened next might have seemed disrespectful to some. But they couldn’t very well leave the room with their raging hard-ons to tell Rake that Tane was dead. Besides, Tane had had a great deal of joy from watching them together.

Spike stood and Angel rushed around the bed. The grasped each other tight, tighter, grinding mouths and cocks together, gripping arses hard enough to have set off their chips, if the chips still worked. They both tasted of Tane’s blood, of course, and then of their own, as Angel’s fangs sliced their tongues. With twin muffled cries they both came hard, clutching at one another to keep from falling, but then both collapsing to their knees anyhow.

When he caught his breath, Spike stood and leaned over the bed. Tane had a small smile on his lips and, finally free from the grip of that horrible disease, his body looked relaxed. Spike placed a light kiss on the corpse’s temple and then stood.

It was time to nick a spaceship.

 

Nobody paid attention to them as they made their way to the spaceship. With the human blood in their systems, the small cuts on the vampires’ arms had already healed, and they looked like just another pair of slaves, hauling a heavy wagon behind their master.

Up close, the ship was immense, a bullet shape as long as a football field and nearly as wide, as tall as a highrise. But Spike knew better than to gawk. He kept his head down as Rake waved lazily at the bored-looking guard to the gangway, who nodded back.

Another guard was standing just inside the huge cargo doors. This one wasn’t human, which startled Spike slightly. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything but humans and vampires. This creature was about four feet tall and slender, with red hairless skin and sinuous limbs. An Epxinan. Most starships were flown by Epxinans and Zoads because those species lived much longer than humans, making the long interstellar flights more feasible. Spike reckoned that back on Earth, this creature would have been called a demon. Perhaps it was, in a sense. He remembered something Master had told him once, a popular theory that all the old human heavens and hells were really other planets, connected somehow to Earth via physics or magic.

“It is not yet time for the cargo to be loaded,” the Epxinan said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice that set Spike’s teeth on edge.

Rake replied, “This isn’t cargo. It’s machinery to repair a defect in 7-C.”

The Epxinan lifted the corner of the tarp and peered into the wagon. It saw exactly what Rake had claimed—machinery. It would have had to move things around to discover the real purpose for this wagonload—several centuries’ worth of vampire feed plus a few other items Rake and the vampires would need. But the guard simply replaced the corner and looked away disinterestedly. “Fine. Go ahead,” it said.

Rake took a few steps inside, Spike and Angel and the wagon close behind. Then he stopped and turned to look at the guard. This was the bit where things began to become tricky, but Rake didn’t appear especially tense.

“Hey!” he called. “Can you help me with this?”

The Epxinan rolled its goat-like eyes and stomped over. “What’s the problem? I don’t have—“

It never finished. Spike came up behind it and, in one swift movement, snapped its fragile neck. Despite his soul, he felt only elation at his first murder in eight hundred years. In addition to the fact that these creatures were responsible for sending many thousands of slaves to constant misery on this planet and others like it, the Epxinans often wiled away the long transit times by committing atrocities upon helpless slaves. Spike had been raped and tortured by them many times. Now, he smiled viciously at Angel.

As soon as the dead guard hit the deck, Rake pulled out a tablet and punched some commands into it. The cargo doors shut. He had told him that this would not attract attention for some time; the doors were opened and shut several times a day when the ships were in port. But they would still have to make haste.

They abandoned the wagon—they’d have plenty of time to unload it later, if all went well—and sped toward the bridge. It was a long run, but they moved swiftly, and then they were in the ship’s command center. It wasn’t a big space, perhaps just twenty feet square. Two whole walls were viewscreens; one was currently tuned to the outside of the ship, and the other was off. There were a half dozen or so tablets, a couple of large panels of controls, and some chairs. Two more Epxinans were sitting in the chairs, but they lurched to their feet when Rake and the vampires burst in.

“Hey! You’re not allowed in here!” yelled one of them. Angel tore its throat out. The other one managed to get a surprisingly hard punch into Spike’s nose before Spike virtually decapitated it. Rake had already begun rapidly pushing buttons and barking commands at tablets, and Spike felt the ship’s engines suddenly come to life.

Within minutes, they were rising. The deck thrummed lightly beneath Spike’s feet and, through the viewscreen, the dock fell away. A few people ran frantically around the ground or just gaped dumbly up at the ship, but there wasn’t anything they could do stop the thieves.

“Who else is onboard?” Angel asked.

“Let me see.” Rake pushed a few more buttons. “Two more crew members. They’re on their way. They’ll be busting in here any second.” Angel and Spike moved to flank the door. “And it looks like there are four humans in cargo bay 3-B. Cleaning crew, probably. I’ve locked them down. We can deal with them later.”

“Dealing with them” probably meant killing them. Rake had carefully timed their theft to occur when most of the ship’s crew was on shore leave, and most of the ground crew had gone home for the evening. But there were always at least a few people left on board. Spike’s conscience did twinge slightly over the humans, who’d only been doing their jobs, but involving a few had been unavoidable.

The Epxinans came rushing through the doors. One of them was waving a weapon of some sort at Rake, but Spike dispatched the creature before it could do any harm. Angel took care of the other just as quickly.

They were safely on their way.

 

They settled in.

Rake claimed the captain’s quarters, which seemed fair enough. Spike and Angel chose to share another cabin quite a ways down the corridor. It was fairly cramped, and the bed was meant to fit one small Epxinan, not two vampires, one of whom was a terrible bed hog. But there was plenty of empty space on the ship and Spike had plans to convert one of the cargo bays to a more spacious living area.

They unloaded the vampire feed and stored it near the galley. Spike wasn’t looking forward to feeding off that shite for the foreseeable future, but there weren’t any alternatives. Besides, Rake didn’t have it much better. The ship carried several lifetimes’ worth of dehydrated, condensed food fit for Epxinans and humans, but it didn’t taste like much.

Not that that seemed to bother Rake. His former scowl had been replaced by a constant, ear-to-ear grin. Spike was fairly certain that sometimes the man slept on the bridge, unable to tear himself away from the viewscreens.

On the second day, Rake produced a small electronic device and used it to remove Spike’s and Angel’s collars. It felt unutterably wonderful to have their necks free after so long. The tattoos had to stay, unless the vampires wanted to flay themselves, and Spike had already experienced that too many times.

Tane had given Rake most of his clothing to bring on board. It fit Angel very well, and he seemed pleased to be wearing it again. There were some trousers and shirts meant for Spike as well, but he rarely put them on. He’d grown used to nudity over the centuries and he was comfortable with it. It wasn’t as if Angel and Rake had never seen him naked before anyhow.

The humans locked in 3-B were a problem. Spike and Angel and Rake went to see them on the second day. As soon as the door was unlocked, one of them launched himself at Rake. Angel killed him, and the remaining three, a woman and two men, gasped and shook to see a vampire unchecked. “Here’s the deal,” Rake told them. “We’re never going back home. So you can play along, or Spike and Angel can kill you. Your choice.”

They locked the people into the crew’s quarters to think about it for a bit. One of the women promptly broke the mirror in her loo and used the glass to slice her wrists. A waste of blood, Spike thought. The other two were locked in together because they were married. Their names were Keyna and Trug, and they decided to cooperate. It was a rum deal for them, but they adapted well enough. Within weeks they were converting a bay themselves into a living space and joining Rake and the vampires for meals and card games.

And tales. Because every night, they’d all lounge around in the galley, and Spike would tell a story. After a month or so, Keyna persuaded Angel to take occasional turns as well. Spike enjoyed this—many of the things Angel talked about were incidents that Spike had never heard about before.

They all found ways to keep busy. There were tablets, of course, with files full of books and music and old films. Angel learned to use a tablet to draw and paint. They set up a space as a training room, and Spike and Angel sparred there frequently. It felt brilliant to fight again, even just for play. Trug learned to compose music. Keyna and Trug helped Rake keep the ship in good order, although it actually needed very little maintenance. Rake taught Spike how to use the ship’s computers and controls. He also showed him how to use the venditite crystals that powered the ship. Tane had given them a small bag that was worth a fortune, and that was enough to keep the ship going for over a thousand years. Spike thought about how those crystals had been obtained, of the slaves that had toiled to extract them, and he shuddered violently at the way he’d barely missed the same fate himself.

They weren’t aimed anywhere in particular. Rake had chosen some coordinates at random, far away from the bits of the galaxy in which humans had settled. It might be interesting to explore some planets, but it didn’t really matter that much. All of them, even their unwitting stowaways, were content. Sometimes one of the humans would even bleed a bit into a cup and present it to the vampires as a small but very welcome pressie.

And when they went to bed, Spike and Angel would shag. Sometimes hard and fast, sometimes slow and passionate. Without the chips Angel could bite Spike and bugger him to their hearts’ content, and, every now and then, he even let Spike bugger him. And then they’d fall asleep, tangled in one another’s arms, and that was lovely. Angel was never going to be perfectly happy—which was fortunate, because Spike didn’t fancy sharing a spaceship with Angelus—but they were both much happier than they’d ever dreamed they’d be.

 

“Tell me a story, Spike.”

Spike smiled at the girl and tucked the blankets under her chin. “Your mum says she wants you asleep. It’s late.”

“Just one. Pleeeeease?” Adia gazed up at him with brown eyes that would have melted stronger men than him. He glanced up at Keyna, who pretended to be annoyed. But she’d known what was going to happen, because it always did when he tucked in her daughter. In fact, it was probably why she allowed Spike to put her to bed to begin with, and it was almost certainly why she stayed to listen. She nodded.

“All right, sprite. But just the one.”

Adia gave a small squeal of happiness, while Spike searched his mind for a tale that was appropriate for an eight-year-old. He’d save the more adult adventures until she was sound asleep, and the rest of the ship’s inhabitants had gathered in the lounge he and Trug had built in bay 1-A.

“Tell me one from Sunnydale,” she demanded.

“Bossy.”

She grinned at him.

 

***

 

“No way. Not in a million years.”

“Aw, c’mon, Slayer. It’s not as if you’re using it now anyhow. I’ll have it back by morning, good as new.”

“Spike, we’re not friends. We don’t _loan_ each other things.”

“Well, I could steal it instead. But I’m trying to be good for you, Buffy, trying to walk the straight and narrow.” I said it sarcastically, but I actually did mean it.

“You’ll never be _good_. You’re an evil, soulless thing, and—“

The door behind her swung open, saving me from having to hear her litany. Not that I hadn’t heard it before, plenty of times. And not that she was wrong in what she said, either. But it hurt nonetheless, especially since I was honestly trying the best I could, and it wasn’t easy.

“Do you know what time it is? You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Buffy slumped slightly and then glared at me. “Chip for brains was just leaving.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” Soul or not, I felt genuinely bad about it. She’d been ill, and she looked so tired, standing there in a faded bathrobe and tatty slippers.

“No, it’s okay. I was awake anyway. Why don’t you both come inside?”

I shot the Slayer a triumphant grin and pushed past her before she could object. Inside, I followed Joyce into the kitchen, with Buffy trailing along indignantly behind. I settled myself on a stool at the counter and watched as Joyce filled the kettle and put it on a burner. Buffy didn’t sit next to me. Instead, she leaned against the wall next to the refrigerator with her arms crossed, glowering at me.

“Were you out patrolling?’ Joyce asked as she took three mugs out of a cupboard.

“_I_ was out patrolling,” Buffy said. “Spike was just lurking and stalking, as always.”

Joyce turned and looked at me sternly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You’ve been leaving your cigarette butts in my yard. Please clean up after yourself.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

She came over and leaned on the counter opposite me. “You don’t have to hide behind that tree, you know. Why don’t you just sit on the porch?”

“Mom!” Buffy exclaimed.

Joyce turned and looked at her. “Well, why not? To be honest, I’d feel a lot safer with him there. Now that I know what kinds of things are out there.” She gestured toward the window.

“Mom, I’m perfectly capable of keeping us safe. If anything comes near, I can kick its a—uh, butt.”

Joyce reached over and patted Buffy’s shoulder. “I’m sure you can, dear. But sometimes you’re out, and it’s just Dawn and me here, or you’re asleep—“

“He’s a vampire, not a watchdog!”

I ignored her. “I’d be happy to keep an eye on things, Joyce.”

“Thank you, Spike.” She smiled at me and I smiled widely back. I was happy, not only because I’d just been given permission to haunt Buffy, but also because Joyce trusted me to watch over her and the nibblet.

The kettle started to shriek. Joyce walked to the stove and turned off the heat. “Would you like some hot chocolate, Spike?”

“Yeah. Ta.” Buffy was giving me a murderous look, so I lifted an eyebrow at her and smirked.

Joyce handed a yellow mug to Buffy and slid a blue one to me. She had a white one. I poked my finger at one of the melty little marshmallows and then happily slurped the digit clean.

“What were you two arguing about, anyway?”

“I was just asking whether—“

“He wanted to take our car,” Buffy interrupted.

“Borrow. I wanted to borrow your car, and have it back by sunup, full of petrol and all.”

“I thought you had a car, Spike.”

“I do. But my mate Clem has a chair he wants to give me, and it won’t fit in my De Soto. Nor Clem’s VW. But I think I can get it into your Jeep.” All of which was true. Of course, I could have just as easily stolen a lorry or something—more easily, even—but it was a good excuse to talk to Buffy, I’d thought. Maybe the Slayer would even come along with me for the ride, and I could pretend it was a date of some sort. Oh, I was pathetic.

Joyce sipped at her chocolate and then shrugged. “Well, I don’t see the harm in letting you borrow—“

“Mom! This is Spike. There’s nothing but harm with him.”

Joyce frowned slightly at me. “You do have plenty of driving experience, don’t you?”

“I drove my first automobile right around 1900. It was a Daimler I nicked just outside Stuttgart. Beautiful thing, long and low.”

She looked relieved. “I guess a hundred years is enough. You’re welcome to use it, Spike.”

As Buffy spluttered, I glanced outside. “Thanks all the same, Joyce, but I don’t think I have enough time left tonight.”

“Well, I have a meeting tomorrow until seven, but after that I won’t need the Jeep. Why don’t you come by around eight?”

“Thank you. That will do nicely.”

Buffy sullenly drank her cocoa.

 

But the next evening, she was the one smiling gleefully while I protested uselessly. “Now look, Joyce, I’m bloody strong. I don’t need anyone—“

“I’m sure you are. But I don’t want the paint scratched, and you never know whether an extra pair of hands will come in, uh, handy.”

I sighed. “Right, then. Send Buffy with me. She’s going to be a lot more use to me than the whelp anyhow.”

“Hey, Fangless. I didn’t volunteer for—“

“Boys!” Joyce had her hands on her hips. “We have a girls’ night planned. _Sleepless in Seattle_ and a half dozen pints of Haagen Dasz. You go move your chair.”

Xander and I shot Buffy twin looks of entreaty, but she curled her lips at us and flounced off. Joyce handed me her key ring. “Fine,” I muttered. “C’mon, droopy boy.”

He clomped unhappily after me toward Joyce’s car. We didn’t speak at all as I drove. At one point, he turned the radio on to a station playing some sort of horrible top forty shite. I growled and turned the knob until I found some Black Sabbath.

“Hey! I was listening to that!”

“’T’s bad enough I’m stuck with you. ‘M not going to be tortured listening to that crap.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not exactly thrilled about this myself, bleach boy. It’s not my idea of a fun night.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eyes. “You can stop denying it, Harris. You’ve been wanting this for years.”

“Wanting what? Furniture moving with the undead? Yeah, I dream about that every night.”

“Time alone with me.”

He let out an unamused snort. “Sure. That’s right up there on my to-do list, right behind having my fingernails pulled off.”

“Could arrange that as well. And you can’t fool me. You want me. I know. I can smell it.” This was actually a complete lie. Sure, the boy smelled of lust, but he was nineteen years old. Boys that age _always_ smell of lust. But it was fun to take the piss.

He huffed at me and resolutely looked out the window.

Clem lived in a small stucco house near the edge of town. He must have heard us pulling up his gravel drive, because he came outside and waved at us. The chair was in his garage, so he opened that up. I lifted the chair—I truly hadn’t needed anyone’s help with this—and wrestled it into the back of the Jeep while Xander and Clem chatted pleasantly.

“Thanks, mate,” I said to Clem.

“No prob. I’ll keep an eye out for a rug, okay?” I was redoing my crypt. Didn’t have much dosh, but Clem had some friends who were in the antiques business and occasionally had nice odds and ends cheap.

“Thanks,” I repeated.

Xander and I climbed back in the car and I headed back towards the cemetery. Neither of us said a word. When I parked, it appeared that Xander intended to stay in the Jeep while I dragged the chair into my crypt. “This isn’t the best neighborhood, you know. Sitting there like that, you’re fair game for whatever nasty happens to come along.”

“I’ll take my chances. It’s better than following you into your lair.”

“As you kiddies do like to remind me, I’m harmless. Won’t say the same for some of the locals. And I don’t care if you end up as some fledge’s snack, but I expect all three of the Summers women will stake me if I don’t return you in one piece. Come with me.”

He sighed heavily, but he did get out of the car, and he even slammed the car’s tailgate shut after I pulled out the chair. Then he tagged along behind me, paying more attention to his feet than anything else around him. A whole host of beasties could have taken him unawares. It’s amazing he survived as long as he did.

When we got to my mausoleum, he watched curiously as I slid the top of the stone vault aside and then hauled the chair down the ladder. He didn’t follow me. I climbed back out a moment later to discover him idly staring at some spiderwebs in the corner.

“Doesn’t it get to you? Having to live in places like this?”

“I’ve seen your horrible basement, remember? My crypt is nicer.”

His shoulders slumped slightly. “Yeah. But I’m not gonna be there forever. I’ve been saving up money, and soon me and Anya are gonna get a place. A nice place, with windows and sunshine and fresh air.”

“And no parents upstairs, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He looked so sad that the next words just slipped out. “I lived with my Mum until I died, you know.”

He suddenly grinned. “Really?”

“It was the nineteenth century,” I said, slightly defensively. “Most people did live with their parents until they got married, and sometimes after.”

“Must have been hard when you wanted to have a girl over.”

“Victorians, berk. I never had a girl over. Unless she and her mum came over for tea, that is.”

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Oh. Well, at least you probably weren’t embarrassed for them to meet your mother. I bet she wasn’t drunk every day by lunchtime.”

“No, she wasn’t. Although Mum never minded a bit of wine or a cordial or three here and there.”

“Huh.”

We just looked at each other for a few minutes after that, each of us suddenly finding an odd understanding of the other. If I wasn’t aching for the Slayer then, I might very well have seduced him. And, despite his demon bint, I’m fairly certain I would have been successful. But instead we broke our gazes apart, and we left to tromp back to the car.

We’d driven about four blocks when something suddenly darted in front us. Xander yelled and I stomped on the brakes. A Pomir demon was crouched in front of us, its tusks glaring in the headlights. That was worrying enough—Pomirs were big, strong brutes, nearly seven feet tall and three hundred pounds—but I knew they tended to run in packs. Sure enough, three or four more of them appeared on either side of the Jeep. And then there was a loud _thud_ over our heads and the roof dented inwards slightly.

“Shit,” Xander said.

My options ran quickly through my head. I couldn’t take on the whole lot of them, not by myself. Xander wasn’t going to be much help. As far as I knew, the only weapon he had was a single stake, stuffed in his back pocket. If I just sat here, the demons were easily strong enough to tear the car apart. I could make a run for it. Their speed wasn’t any match for mine, and I’d have no problem making it to safety in my crypt. Most of my brain urged me to do just that. But that would leave Xander, alone and vulnerable, and he’d never be able to outrun them. I didn’t fancy being held responsible for getting one of the Scoobies killed.

With a pained sigh, I chose my last alternative. I threw the gears into reverse and hit the gas, dislodging the demon above us. Only bruised, it joined its fellows in fanning out on the road ahead of us. When I was some yards back, I shifted into forward gear and stomped on the pedal.

I hit three of them at once. Two bounced to the sides, but the third ended up on the bonnet, slamming into the windscreen hard enough to shatter it. Xander screamed. I couldn’t see a thing other than mangled Pomir, so I yanked the wheel sharply to the right. We went skidding around and the demon fell off. The Jeep’s tires thumped over its body. Then I accelerated again. Xander ducked down until he was practically under the dashboard, and I hit two more of the monsters: _thunk, thunk_.

Once again I screeched to a halt. The remaining demons hesitated and then ran away, no doubt in search of easier prey. Xander cautiously sat back up and heaved a long sigh of relief.

I got out of the car and nearly cried. It was a battered mess, with huge, bloody dents and long scrapes and, of course, the broken windscreen.

Joyce was going to dust me.

I got back in the car and headed for Revello Drive. I felt like I was driving to my own execution.

When we got there, Xander hopped out of the car and darted inside. I seriously considered just leaving then. But I wasn’t a coward, and I reckoned I owed Joyce at least an apology. So instead I leaned against the wreckage of the car, smoking a cigarette.

It didn’t take long before a whole crowd burst out of the house. The Slayer was in the lead, but Dawn was right behind her. Joyce was third, trailed by Red and her girl. Xander wandered out behind them all.

I steeled my shoulders and waited for the shouting.

But there was none. Everyone walked around the Jeep, mouths gaping, until they ended up back in front of me.

“Look,” I said uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to pay somehow, and—“

Joyce put out her hand and brushed it lightly against my forehead. “You’re bleeding,” she said, looking at the small streak of red on her fingertips.

I put my own hand up and touched my face gingerly. “’S nothing. Just some flying glass, I expect. I can borrow some money from Clem, and—“

“It’s insured.”

“Oh.” This wasn’t at all the response I’d expected. Where was all the screaming and recriminations?

“Why don’t you come in and get cleaned up?” Joyce said softly.

“But…aren’t you angry? Your car….”

“My car is just a car. Xander told us you saved both of you with it.”

I gaped at Xander in shock. He’d said that? He stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled at me. A pleasant smile, friendly. Like we were mates. “He was awesome,” Xander said. “Plowed those suckers right down.”

I glanced over at the Slayer, expecting her to protest or, at the very least, scowl at me. But she did neither. She had her head cocked slightly to the side and she was staring at me thoughtfully, as if she were noticing something new.

And then Joyce came closer and put her arm around me. She smelled of Chanel No. 5 and popcorn. “Family and friends are a lot more important to me than that Jeep, Spike. Come inside. I’ll make you some chocolate.”

Bemused, I allowed her to lead me into the house. I ended up joining them in the living room that night, sitting on the sofa with Dawn on the floor leaning against my legs, and Tara next to me. We watched _The Princess Bride_ and ate crisps and nobody once said anything nasty to me.

For a few hours that night, I felt like I was home.

 

[Chapter Seventeen](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/66591.html)


	17. Scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[scheherazade](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/scheherazade), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/other](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/other), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Scheherazade, Chapter 17/17** _

**Title:** Scheherazade   
**Chapter:** 17/17   
**Chapter Title:** Dreams   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander, Spike/Angel, Spike/several others   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m, non-con, character death   
**Summary: **Far in the future on a distant planet, Spike has been enslaved for centuries. In order to spare himself from a terrible fate, he must entertain his Master with tales of his vampire existence on Earth. The two most significant relationships are Spander and Spangel, but in his stories, Spike has adventures (smutty and otherwise) with a great many other characters from the Buffyverse.   
**Author's Note: **The fic is complete and I'll post daily. Thank you to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banners (from one of which I've adapted the icon, too) and to [](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**whyskeyeyes**](http://whyskeyeyes.livejournal.com/)for her help! Some chapters will include additional art as well. Feedback always cherished.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Scheherazade&filter=all)

**Today's banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/).   
We've reached the end. Thank you very much for reading; I hope you enjoyed. Extra special huge thanks to you talented people who contributed artwork!!!   
**

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00028pd8/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Seventeen**

**Dreams**

 

Spike and Angel were both prone to nightmares, with one or the other frequently waking up, screaming, in the other’s arms. Although they’d been free now for over fifteen years, they’d been slaves much longer than that, and it was going to take a long time for the bad dreams to go away. If they ever did. But they comforted each other, and a nice, sweet shag was always a good way to recover from nastiness in the brain.

This was no nightmare Spike had tonight. In the dream, a fairy appeared at their bedside. _The_ fairy, Spike expected, although it was the only one he’d ever met, and perhaps they all looked the same. It didn’t speak, which made sense to sleeping Spike because he’d never heard the fairy’s voice.

Instead, it beckoned at him, and he followed it through corridors much like the ship’s but fuzzier, until they came to the bridge. There was only one tablet on the dream-bridge and it was much larger than a real one. Spike watched as the fairy held up two long, skinny fingers, smiled at him, and then punched some coordinates into the controls. Spike had learned navigation from Rake, so he knew these coordinates were real. They belonged to a section of space where nobody ever traveled because there were some unexplained anomalies there. Rake had discussed heading that way, just to see what was what, but they hadn’t yet made up their minds to do so.

In the dream, the stars streamed past at speeds too fast even for Spike’s eyes to track, and then they approached a planet. It looked a good deal like the Earth Spike remembered seeing during his days on the moon, blue and lovely.

The dreamship came closer and closer until it was hovering just over a city that looked remarkably like an amalgam of every place Spike had ever been happy: London and New York and Seattle and Budapest and even Sunnydale. They dropped even lower, and then they were directly over a tall building. A crowd of people were on the roof, jumping and waving. And as the ship came even closer, Spike could make out their faces.

Ah.

There was Xander. And Buffy. And Dru, and Rupert, and Wesley, and someone who looked a lot like Dracula, but was he tan? Was that Anya beside Rupert? And Red and Tara, holding hands. And, over there at the edge, with their arms around each other, Tane and Miss Dovett. Oh, there was his Mum as well, and Joyce. Other familiar faces crowded the rooftop—Clem and Tim, Dawn, Lindsey, Darla, Charlie Gunn, Harmony, others. Fred! Some people he didn’t recognize at all. Everyone was in the prime of life, and they all looked ecstatic. And welcoming.

“Yeah, all right, I get it,” Spike said in the dream. “Very nice. Much better than those dreams about being skinned and dragged behind that boat. Cheers to my subconscious.”

The fairy shook his head fondly and waggled those two fingers again, and tapped the coordinates on the tablet screen. Then he closed the few steps between him and Spike, and he kissed Spike, firmly and sweetly. When the fairy broke away, he stuck three fingers in the air, gave them a pointed look, and then gently stroked Spike’s mouth with them. Dreaming, Spike felt a sudden prickle and tingling in his gums, a feeling he hadn’t had for centuries. He was sprouting fangs. The fairy kissed him again. Dream fairies were immune to vampire teeth or didn’t care. When the fairy broke away, he raised a fist and then slowly lifted three fingers, one at a time. He grinned.

Spike awoke with the taste of blackberries in his mouth.

 

“This is gross, Mom!” Adia whined.

“You should be thankful for the chance to eat real food for a change,” Keyna said.

“Spike and Angel aren’t having any.”

Trug frowned at his daughter. “Spike and Angel are vampires. Now finish your dinner.”

Adia made a terrible face and Spike had to hide a grin behind his hand. He couldn’t blame her, really. She’d spent all her short life on board, eating nothing but the concentrated stuff, and that’s what she was used to. Last week was only the third time in her memory that they’d landed on a planet, and that the humans had been able to gather some edible things to bring back on board.

This planet had been no more interesting than the others, mostly just a thick, impenetrable jungle. There were no sentient creatures here, just an array of small, scurrying, lizard-like things. And bugs. Loads of bugs.

They’d stayed about a week. Rake was anxious to get moving again. Even after all this time, he was always curious to see what lay just ahead. The other adult humans had grown surprisingly content with their lot, and all they really missed, they said, was fresh fruits and vegetables. Besides, Keyna was too heavily pregnant to move around very well among the undergrowth, and Trug didn’t want to leave her side for long. The ship had always been Adia’s whole world, of course, and she wasn’t all that interested in exploring. She preferred to curl up with a tablet in her hand, reading, or else goad Spike into adding on to the complicated play structure he’d built her in one of the cargo bays.

The vampires enjoyed the chance for a small change of scenery. But after a few days they were happy to climb back on board and to take off again. The ship was comfortable, and they had each other, and for eight hundred years, that was so much more than Spike had dared to hope for.

 

“Tell me a story,” Angel mumbled sleepily against the back of Spike’s neck.

“’M knackered, love.” It had been hard work, hauling loads of food on board for the humans, and then helping them dry and can and otherwise preserve as much as possible. There had been a berry they’d gathered that had reminded him uncomfortably of the darkberries he’d once had to harvest. Of course, now he was free, and it was for his friends’ sake that he’d picked the things. That was infinitely better.

“Just a short one,” Angel begged, snuggling his flaccid cock more firmly against Spike’s arse.

Spike gave a little wiggle. “You’re as bad as Adia.”

Angel gnawed lightly at Spike’s neck with human teeth.

“Fine. Just a short one. This happened not too long before Master brought you to me.”

 

***

 

Master was restless.

He barely picked at the dinner I had prepared for him, instead sitting at the table, jiggling his knee and staring at nothing. I had practically thrown myself at the man, trying to calm him with my body. But Master had pounded into me quickly, almost perfunctorily, and then pulled on loose trousers and wandered from room to room.

“Would you like a story, Master? I was going to tell you about this one time, when Dru and I were in Brazil, and—“

“Not now. Save it for later, okay?”

“Yes, Master.”

I must have looked worried, because Master put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just a little preoccupied today.”

I nodded and went to tidy the kitchen. I was just putting away the dishes when Master came up behind me and wrapped his big, warm arms around me. He rested his chin on my shoulder and looked out through the window, into the black night. I relaxed, leaning back into his embrace, confident that he’d support me against his chest. He sighed into my ear, nibbled on the lobe for a moment, sighed again.

“It’s a nice night. Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

I was surprised. Most evenings he was fairly tired from his day at work, and content to stay inside the house, or perhaps just sit out on the porch. The only time I ventured beyond our little clearing at night was when he was gone and I did a bit of hunting in the woods close by. But tonight he pulled on his boots and, with his torso still bare, led me outside.

It was a lovely night. It had been quite hot during the day, but the suns had set some time ago and now the air was warm with a gentle breeze. The night was moonless, full of the sounds of insects and small creatures stirring among the leaves.

I was surprised again when we came to the road, because instead of turning right, toward the big house, Master turned left. “You’re going to have to keep me from tripping and killing myself, Spike. I can’t see a thing.” He slung an arm around me and chuckled, and we walked slowly. The road was carpeted in pine needles that were soft and slightly slick beneath my feet.

The road rose gently, then rounded a curve. I’d never ventured this far in this direction, and I looked curiously about me, peering into the darkness. There was nothing much to see, just more trees. The wind carried with it a cloying floral scent, some night-blooming flower tucked away in the forest.

“This is nice.”

“Yes, Master, it is.”

“I’ve been working on…this project. I’m looking for something. It hasn’t gone as smoothly as I’d hoped. I’m not sure I’m ever gonna succeed.”

“I’m sorry, Master. Can I help?”

“No, not this time, I’m afraid. If I do ever find it, though, I think it’ll make you happy.”

I hadn’t any idea what Master was going on about, so I decided to answer with a nice, generic, “Thank you, Master.”

We walked in silence for another two or three miles. I heard water rushing somewhere. Then the road rose again, more steeply this time, and suddenly the trees thinned and then disappeared altogether.

Master halted. “What do you think, Spike?”

I looked around. We were nearly at the crest of a steep, rounded hill. The hill was carpeted in grasses and small flowers. Below us lay dark forest and, on one side, a fairly sharp cliff with a small river below.

“It’s beautiful, Master.”

“I used to ride here when I was a boy. I pretended that the hill was a giant’s burial mound.” He laughed softly. “Maybe it is. I’m told that some huge animals once lived on this planet, millions of years before humans arrived. Anyway, I used to spend hours here. Once I fell asleep, spent the whole night. My mother was so angry at me when I got home in the morning! They took my horse away for a month.”

“I can see why you fancied it so.”

“I haven’t been back in years. I thought that it wouldn’t seem so magical, now that I’m grown up. But…I don’t know. It’s still special, I think.”

He pulled me off the path and slightly higher, to the very top of the hill. Then he lay down on the grass and I lay beside him. It was dizzying to look up at the star-studded sky. For a moment, it was almost as if I could feel the planet revolving.

Master pointed off to one side, to a spot about midway on the horizon. “That’s Earth, over there,” he said. “See, in that little cluster that looks like a bow? Well, you can’t see Earth itself, of course, but that’s her sun.”

I gazed across the unfathomable blackness at the tiny pinpoint of light. Remembered when it had been above my head, obscured by coal-smoke and fog. And then later, when I had had to hide from it. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Never would again. There hadn’t been anyone there that I knew for eight hundred years. I wondered what was left of it, though. After humans had ruined it and then mostly abandoned it, had other life prospered there? Were Xander’s bones still there, buried beneath soil and sea, and Buffy’s, and Rupert’s, and those of the other people who had once been my friends and lovers?

Perhaps Master read my thoughts. He grasped my hand with his and squeezed it. “I was thinking about my sister the other day,” he said. “Wondering if she’s…somewhere…still. I mean, it doesn’t make sense that a consciousness could just wink out like a blown flame, does it?”

“I don’t think it does, Master. She had a soul, and they don’t disappear when a body dies. When Buffy died that time, she said she was in heaven.”

“Yeah. But where _is_ heaven?”

“Dunno, Master. I’m not headed there, myself.”

He squeezed my hand again. “I can’t believe you’re going to hell. You don’t deserve it.”

I wasn’t so sure I agreed, but I didn’t say anything.

He continued, “Anyway, heaven, hell…they have to be somewhere, right? You know, some people think they’re just other planets.”

“So how do you get there when you die, Master?”

“I don’t know. Magic, maybe. Maybe it’s all just one big game, and the gods move us around like chess pieces.” He sighed. “It’s a nice thought, though, isn’t it? I mean, to look up there and think, somewhere maybe my sister’s there, looking back at our suns right now.”

I snuggled in against the crook of his left arm, smiling when his right hand wandered down my chest and belly, and then began playing idly with my hardening cock. Master was right. It was a comforting idea.

 

***

 

“I have you now, tosser. You might as well cry uncle.”

“Yeah, right.” Angel struggled free of Spike’s grip and landed a hearty punch in his gut.

Spike oofed and growled and spun, and kicked Angel hard in the thigh. He did it high enough to make it clear that he could have connected with Angel’s bollocks if he’d chosen to. Angel jumped back. “Little close to home that time, yeah?” Spike jeered.

Angel snarled. “Gonna get you where it _really_ hurts,” he spat, and his ham-sized fist hit Spike squarely in the mouth.

Spike tensed to retaliate, but then he realized Angel had frozen, and was staring at him oddly. “What?”

“You’re bleeding,” Angel replied calmly.

Spike’s frown softened to a leer. “Yeah? Wanna come clean me up?”

Angel stepped in, and, still in gameface, licked at the blood that was trickling from the corner of Spike’s mouth. Spike shuddered. Right, then. Shagging was better than sparring anyhow.

Angel pulled away slightly to leer back at him. Spike curled his tongue and—

“Ow.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Cut my tongue. How the bloody hell—?” Spike lifted a thumb to his top gum, and—there. On one side, something sharp was slightly protruding.

“Are you okay, Spike?” Angel had just gone from murderous to amorous to concerned in about thirty seconds.

“Liam? Will you have a look in my mouth?”

“Uh, sure.”

Spike opened wide and Angel narrowed his yellow eyes to peer inside. Then Angel’s own mouth fell open. “Fuck!” he exclaimed.

“What?!”

“It’s a tooth. Spike, your fangs are growing back.”

Spike’s knees felt weak and he gripped Angel’s arm for support. “Are you sure?”

“I know a fang when I see one. One of your top canines is poking through a little, and I can just about make out the other. Why are you suddenly getting your fangs back?”

Spike blinked up at him and then swallowed. “Bloody _hell_,” he whispered.

“Spike?”

But Spike had already turned away and he was running toward the bridge, speeding as fast as a vampire could go. Angel ran behind him, calling out now and then for an explanation.

Spike burst onto the bridge, causing Rake to startle so badly he nearly fell out of his chair.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Rake yelled.

Spike ignored him too, instead frantically entering new coordinates into the controls. Rake and Angel watched over his shoulders. When Spike was finished, he turned around and looked at them, a wide smile stretching his still-vampiric features.

“Spike?” Rake said, as if he were addressing someone who was completely off his trolley. “That’s over in the sector where—“

“Know where it is, mate.”

Angel squinted at him. “Why are you suddenly changing our course?”

Spike laughed, then, loudly and joyously. “The bloody tooth fairy told me to!”

Angel and Rake exchanged worried glances. “Where are we going?” Angel finally asked, a trifle plaintively.

Spike grabbed Angel’s head and pulled him in for a fierce kiss, then released him. “M not positive,” Spike said. “But I think we’re going home.”

 

 

_~~~fin~~~_


End file.
